FIRST WEEK] June 131 



so wonderfully potent to recall days and scenes of our past 

 life. Like a sunset, the vision that a certain song brings 

 is different to each one of us. 



To me, the lament of the wood pewee brings to mind 

 deep, moist places in the Pennsylvania backwoods; the 

 crescendo of the oven bird awakens memories of the oaks 

 of the Orange mountains; when a loon or an olive-sided 

 flycatcher or a white-throat calls, the lakes and forests of 

 Nova Scotia come vividly to mind ; the cry of a sea-swallow 

 makes real again the white beaches of Virginia; to me a 

 cardinal has in its song the feathery lagoons of Florida's 

 Indian River, while the shriek of a macaw and its an- 

 tithesis, the silvery, interlacing melodies of the solitaire, 

 spell the farthest barrancas of Mexico, with the vultures 

 ever circling overhead, and the smoke clouds of the volcano 

 in the distance. 



So sweet, so sweet the calling of the thrushes, 



The calling, cooing, wooing, everywhere; 

 So sweet the water's song through reeds and rushes, 



The plover's piping note, now here, now there. 



NORA PERRY. 



