MARCH 



31 



The little brown brooks, how swift and full 

 they ran! One fancied something gleeful and 

 hilarious in them. And the large creeks, how 

 steadily they rolled on, trailing their ample skirts 

 along the edges of the fields and marshes, and 

 leaving ragged patches of water here and there 1 

 Many a gentle slope spread, as it were, a turfy 

 apron in which reposed a little pool or lakelet. 

 Many a stream sent little detachments across lots, 

 the sparkling water seeming to trip lightly over 

 the unbroken turf. Here and there an oak or an 

 elm stood knee-deep in a clear pool, as if rising 

 from its bath. It gives one a fresh, genial feeling 

 to see such a bountiful supply of pure, running 

 water. One's desires and affinities go out toward 

 the full streams. How many a parched place they 

 reach and lap in one's memory! How many a 

 vision of naked pebbles and sun-baked banks they 

 cover and blot out I 



BURROUGHS: Signs and Seasons. 



