WILDWOOD WAYS 



league boots and passing from Labra- 

 dor to Louisiana at a stride. 



On the north side of a strip of wood- 

 land which borders the boggy outlet to 

 Ponkapoag Pond lies a great mowing 

 field, and here among the sere stubble I 

 stand in the pale shadow of deciduous 

 trees and face the wind coming over the 

 rolling uplands as it might come across 

 Arctic barrens, singing down upon the 

 northerly outposts of the timber line. 

 On the south side the muskrat teepees 

 rise from blue water at the bog edge 

 like peaks of Teneriffe from the sunny 

 seas that border the Canary Isles. Such 

 contrasts you may find on many an early 

 December day, when walking in the rare- 

 fied brightness of the open air is like 

 moving about in the heart of a diamond. 



Yet even the big mowing field shows 

 unmistakable signs of having been 

 4 



