MINSTREL WEATHER 



gay time by comparison with the darkling 

 lives of the creatures that move among 

 them and beneath them. 



All winter long in its leaf bud the baby 

 tulip leaf drowses, curled up tight. It is 

 completely ready to spring full formed 

 into the light as soon as the frost line has 

 been driven back by the triumphant lances 

 of the sun, and there it dips and laughs 

 and nods, and sometimes goes quite wild 

 when a running breeze comes by at the 

 hour wherein morning makes opals of 

 July's heavy dew. The poplars, the 

 maidenhair trees, shake out spangles then. 

 The maples show their silver sides. Al- 

 ways the forest lives and breathes, 

 but when the new leaves come it draws 

 long, shuddering breaths of delight. 

 Whoever has dwelt with trees knows how 

 differently the small leaves of May talk 

 from the draped and weighted boughs of 

 August. 



Stepping along the rustling wood road, 

 you can hear the reveries of the leaves 

 around you. They whisper and sigh in 

 youth ; they reach out to touch the friendly 

 stranger's cheek. In summer they hang 

 their patterned curtains tenderly about 



[86] 



