WILDWOOD WAYS 



theless good to see, for it is the homely 

 earth coming back to you. You have 

 had your last canoe trip of the year, but 

 it has carried you far. 



No wonder that on such a night the 

 pond, falling asleep for the long winter, 

 dreams. A little after midnight it stirred 

 uneasily in its sleep and a faint quiver 

 ran across its surface. A laggard puff 

 of the north wind that, straggling, had 

 itself fallen asleep in the pine wood and 

 waked again, was now hastening to 

 catch up. The surface water had been 

 below the freezing point for some time 

 and with the slight wakening the dreams 

 began to write themselves all along as if 

 the little puff of wind were a pencil that 

 drew the unformulated thoughts in ice 

 crystals: Water lying absolutely still will 

 often do this. Its temperature may go 

 some degrees below the freezing point 



