THE PLAY OF LEAVES 



home of light, of fire frozen fast in water 

 and turned pale. 



Between the going and coming of the 

 leaves the sky is background for the cun- 

 ning lacework of twigs. Were it always 

 May, we should never see how finely 

 wrought is the loom upon which those 

 leafy embroideries are woven. In autumn 

 the design is more austere, the colors show 

 more somber, but when the March branches 

 flush with sap, and the buds, waking, 

 put forth hesitant green fingers, that in- 

 finitely complex tracery of the twigs is a 

 spring charm as moving as the perfume 

 of the thorn. Outlined against a sunset, 

 it foretells in beauty the months when the 

 leaf chorus will sound with the birds'. 



