WINTER MARVELS 



ET us suppose that a heavy snow has fallen 

 and that we have been a-birding in vain. 

 For once it seems as if all the birds Jiad gone the 

 way of the butterflies. But we are not true bird- 

 lovers unless we can substitute nature for bird 

 whenever the occasion demands ; specialisation is 

 only for the ultra-scientist. 



There is more to be learned in a snowy field 

 than volumes could tell. There is the tangle of 

 footprints to unravel, the history of the pastimes 

 and foragings and tragedies of the past night 

 writ large and unmistakable. Though the sun now 

 shines brightly, we can well imagine the cold dark- 

 ness of six hours ago; we can reconstruct the 

 whole scene from those tiny tracks, showing fran- 

 tic leaps, the indentation of two wing-tips, a 

 speck of blood. But let us take a bird's-eye view 

 of things, from a bird's-head height; that is, lie 

 flat upon a board or upon the clean, dry crystals 

 and see what wonders we have passed by all our 

 lives. 



Take twenty square feet of snow with a stream- 

 let through the centre, and we have an epitome of 

 geological processes and conditions. With chin 

 upon mittens and mittens upon the crust, the eye 

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