BARE HILLS IN MIDWINTER 



before you reach them. No doubt they 

 thought to have the glen all to themselves 

 for a proper picnic with prunes and 

 pickles, and here are these great fellows 

 thus misbehaving! It is a shame and the 

 park police should put a stop to it. The 

 beeches are so frosty in their indignant 

 withdrawal that the icy whispering of their 

 dry leaves sounds like fast falling sleet. 

 Slip among them when you are next on 

 the hill, shut your eyes and listen. The 

 day may be as sunny and warm as a 

 winter day can be, but you will think you 

 hear the snow falling fast and will be 

 sorry you have not brought your fur 

 muffler. 



As for the chestnuts, I suspect they 

 drank mountain dew at the illicit still 

 just below the gully. Surely no springs 

 should have a license to do business 

 among the hilltops of this granite range. 

 99 



