SWAYING TREE TOPS 



unreal are so intermingled that I can- 

 not tell their differences. I will not 

 be positive that that is real smoke 

 from a cabin chimney yonder on 

 Raccoon's side. Perhaps the note of 

 a cowbell, as its wearer, lying in the 

 shade below, brushes the flies from 

 her back, is only my fancying. 



A cloud covers the sun. The 

 shadows thicken into one, and I find 

 that in an instant the real stands out 

 to meet me in its evening mood. 

 While I have been dreaming the 

 hours have passed, and the cooler 

 breeze of evening comes along the 

 mountain crest. I have seen but one 

 view. It has taken a half day. I 

 drop down the steep path to a spring 

 which blows its coolness from a moun- 

 tain crevice. I have been here before 



[36] 



