WILD PASTURES 



But by no stretch of the imagination 

 could I bring the white alder to bloom 

 in early June. Moreover, it had only a 

 suggestion of that in its purity of fra- 

 grance. There was more to this. There 

 was a spicy, teasing titillation that 

 made me think of bubbles in a tall 

 glass, and it is a wonder that that 

 thought did not name it for me, but it 

 did n't. 



The sun was tipping the dew-wet 

 bush tops with opal scintillations that 

 soak you to the skin as you shoulder 

 through them, but that did not matter; 

 I was dressed for it, and so on I went, 

 taking continual shower-baths cheerfully, 

 but always with that teasing, alluring 

 scent in my nostrils. Now and then I 

 lost it; often it was confused and over- 

 ridden by other stronger odors. Once 

 I forgot it. 



36 



