MARCH 



5 



I noticed a few chickadees there in the edge of 

 the pines in the sun, lisping and twittering cheer- 

 fully to one another with reference to me, I think, 

 the cunning and innocent little birds. One a little 

 farther off utters the phoebe note. There is a foot, 

 more or less, of clear, open water at the edge here, 

 and seeing this, one of these birds hops down, as 

 if glad to find any open water at this season, and 

 after prinking, it stands in the water on a stone, 

 up to its belly, and dips its head, and flirts the 

 water about vigorously, giving itself a good wash- 

 ing. I had not expected this at this season. No 

 fear that it will catch cold. 



THOREAU: Winter. 



6 



The sun, when he sets about destroying the ice, 

 does not simply melt it from the surface, that 

 were a slow process ; but he sends his shafts into 

 it and separates it into spikes and needles, in 

 short, makes kindling-wood of it, so as to consume 



it the quicker. 



BURROUGHS: Signs and Seasons. 



A soft rain began to fall, and it loosed the 

 tongues of the birds. Chickadees called from tree 

 to hedge. Golden-crested kinglets lisped to each 

 other in the cedars. A dozen crows circled over 

 the high pines, cawing discontentedly. 



BOLLES : Land of the Lingering Snow. 



