FEBRUARY 



The snow has fallen so gently that it forms an 

 upright wall on the slenderest twig. The agree- 

 able maze which the branches make is more obvi- 

 ous than ever, and every twig thus laden is as still 

 as the hillside itself. . . . The effect of the snow 

 is to press down the forest, confound it with the 

 grasses, and create a new surface to the earth 

 above, shutting us in with it, and we go along 

 somewhat like moles through our galleries. The 

 sight of the pure and trackless road up Brister's 

 Hill, with branches and trees supporting snowy 

 burdens bending over it on each side, would tempt 

 us to begin life again. 



THOREAU: Winter. 



What a very gymnast is the typical chickadee ! 

 As he twists himself on his perch, bringing his 

 head under his feet, I am reminded of similar 

 grotesque actions in the parrot. How tame and 

 curious, hopping down through the branches, until 

 just above one's head! There is a winnowing 

 sound in the flight of the chickadee which recalls 

 the rustling noise of the humming-bird's wings, 

 or the night-moth hovering over flowers, in the far- 

 away antipode of the season. Responsive to this 

 sweetest note heard in all winterdom comes the 

 terse staccato " yah, yah," of the fellowshiping 

 nuthatches. 



EDITH M. THOMAS : From Winter Solstice to Vernal 

 Equinox. 



