SPRING 



FTER many days of 

 severe frost there 

 came a night when 

 there was a sound of 

 musketry in the 

 woods. Trees were 

 cracking continu- 

 ously and from the 

 pond came a great 

 boom, which went 

 ripping up the creek, 

 past the elms and into the heart of 

 the Beech Woods, sending a thousand 

 echoes out upon the still night. Winter 

 was making her last stand. 



Through the days that followed, a 

 black curtain of haze hung low on the 

 horizon to the north. The air was soft 

 and caressing, full of rumours of the 

 South, flowers and sunshine and the 

 vast migrations of feathered folk that 

 had already begun. 



Over the ice in the creek a broad, 

 clear sheet of water came sweeping out 

 past the elms and flooded the pond. It 

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