Music of the Wild 



wintered the cocoons, and had the rarest moth of 

 our country emerge beside my pillow, and sent by 

 the hundred the eggs of mated pairs to scientific 

 men who lacked personal experience with the spe- 

 cies. I am not missing anything, and what I get 

 is the palpitant beauty and pulsing song of exist- 

 ence. The happy, care-free method is to go to the 

 forest in early spring, and with senses alive to 

 everything and deliberately follow the changes of 

 the season. 



One of the first sights to attract the attention 

 will proclaim itself from afar : the flowering of the 

 The Ex- dogwood. Sometimes there is a real tree in undis- 

 cuse of tiirbed forest, lifting to the light a white head that 

 lu y makes a point of splendor. The bloom is a pecul- 

 iar thing, resembling poinsettia in that the showy 

 spathes, commonly called flowers, are merely a dec- 

 oration surrounding the true bloom, which is small 

 and insignificant. In reality what appears to be 

 white flower petals are just wrapping that all win- 

 ter has screened the little flower bud from frost 

 and storm, and the small dent in the top of each 

 leaf is where the very tip blighted in severe weather. 

 After a wonderful spring exhibition the dogwood 

 ceases to attract attention and resembles its sur- 

 roundings until fall. Then its leaves begin to 

 color early and outdo almost all others in vivid 

 tints, added to which are the ripened berries of 

 bright Chinese-red. Dogwood is not rare, and 

 56 



