SOME JANUARY BIRDS 



be continuous and the snow deep. All 

 we northern-bred folk love the real winter 

 and feel defrauded of our birthright if 

 we do not get it. 



Strangest of all were the beeches. 

 They have held the lower of their tan- 

 pale leaves and with them have whispered 

 of snow all winter long. Whatever the 

 day, you had but to stand among them 

 with closed eyes and you could hear the 

 beech word for sno\v going tick, tick, 

 tick, all about. It seemed as if flakes 

 must be falling and hitting the leaves so 

 plainly they spoke it. Now that the flakes 

 were beginning the beeches never said a 

 word, but just stood mute and watched 

 it come and listened to the music of all 

 the other trees. Or perhaps they listened 

 to something finer yet. It was only in 

 their enchanted silence that I thought I 

 heard it. Now and then the wind held its 

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