ioo Birds in the Moon [FOURTH WEEK 



of cosmic desolation! What vast deserts, and gaping cra- 

 ters of barren rock ! The cold, steel-white planet seems of 

 all things most typical of death. 



But those specks passing across its surface? At first 

 you imagine they are motes clogging the delicate blood- 

 vessels of the retina; then you wonder if a distant host of 

 falling meteors could have passed. Soon a larger, nearer 

 mote appears; the moon and its craters are forgotten and 

 with a thrill of delight you realise that they are birds 

 living, flying birds of all earthly things typical of the 

 most vital life! Migration is at its height, the chirps and 

 twitters which come from the surrounding darkness are 

 tantalising hints telling of the passing legions. Thousands 

 and thousands of birds are every night pouring northward 

 in a swift, invisible, aerial stream. 



As a projecting pebble in mid-stream blurs the trans- 

 parent water with a myriad bubbles, so the narrow path 

 of moon-rays, which our glass reveals, cuts a swath of visi- 

 bility straight through the host of birds to our eager eyes. 

 How we hate to lose an instant's opportunity! Even a 

 wink may allow a familiar form to pass unseen. If we 

 can use a small telescope, the field of view is much en- 

 larged. Now and then we recognise the flight of some 

 particular species, the swinging loop of a woodpecker 

 or goldfinch, or the flutter of a sandpiper. 



It has been computed that these birds sometimes fly as 

 much as a mile or more above the surface of the earth, 

 and when we think of the tiny, fluttering things at this 

 terrible height, it takes our breath away. What a pano- 

 rama of dark earth and glistening river and ocean must be 



