IN THE WHITE WOODS 



larger stems. Even in winter weather 

 when the snow lies deep the crow knows 

 where to find what is good for him. 



Where the path wound round the brow 

 of the hill and the birches stand, their 

 granaries still full of manna for the wan- 

 dering bird, it seemed again as if my 

 plunge into the white thicket had bap- 

 tized me with invisibility. Of a sudden 

 the air was full of the sound of wings 

 and a flock of tree sparrows that must 

 have numbered hundreds swung about 

 my head and charged the snow-covered 

 birches. Their dash shook some snow 

 off and a few lighted, the others swing- 

 ing off and having at them again. This 

 time all found a footing and began to 

 feed eagerly on the seeds from the tiny 

 cones, scattering the birdlike scales in 

 flocks far greater than their own. 



I had stopped stock-still at the sound of 



