MINSTREL WEATHER 



them, now that they see the sun freely 

 again, put on the petals of spring amid 

 this fair desolation. Strawberry blossoms, 

 visibly fey, appear; long-stemmed and 

 scanty - flowered fall dandelions; an ill- 

 timed display of April's buttercups. The 

 blackberry vines go richly dyed superb 

 red- velvet settings for the jewels of frost. 

 Down in the valley, through the wood- 

 smoke haze, move the slow apple wagons 

 through the lanes. This is appleland. 

 Northern Spy and Lemon Pippin are ripe 

 to cracking; Baldwins will be mellow by 

 Twelfth-night, the russet at Easter. Gor- 

 geous and ephemeral hangs the Maiden's 

 Blush. The strawberry apples are like 

 embers on the little trees, rubies of the 

 orchard. Lady Sweets and Dominies are 

 respectfully being urged into the cellar, 

 and for those who will pay to learn the 

 falseness of this world's shows the freight 

 cars are receiving Ben Davises. Sheep- 

 noses, left often on the boughs, will hold 

 cold nectar after the black frosts have 

 killed the last marigold. They lie, dull 

 red, by the orchard fence in the early 

 snow, then- blunt expression revealing no 

 secrets. You have to know about them. 



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