DECEMBER 



13 



Slate-colored snowbirds flit before me in the 

 path, feeding on the seeds, the countless little 

 brown seeds that begin to be scattered over the 

 snow, so much the more obvious to bird and beast. 

 A hundred kinds of indigenous grain are harvested 

 now, broadcast upon the surface of the snow. 

 Thus, at a critical season, these seeds are shaken 

 down on to a clean, white napkin, unmixed with 

 dirt and rubbish, and off this the little pensioners 

 pick them. Their clean table is thus spread a few 

 inches or feet above the ground. 



THORKAU: Autumn. 



14 



The bravado of the butcher-bird is great, but 

 it is not unlimited. I saw him, one day, shuf- 

 fling along a branch in a very nervous, unshrikely 

 fashion, and was at a loss to account for his un- 

 usual demeanor till I caught sight of a low-flying 

 hawk sweeping over the tree. Every creature, no 

 matter how brave, has some other creature to be 

 afraid of ; otherwise, how would the world get on? 

 TOKREY: Birds in the Bush. 



Yesterday [skating] we saw the pink light on 

 the snow within a rod of us. The shadows of the 

 bridges, etc., on the snow were a dark indigo blue. 



THORBAU: Winter. 



