THE BEECH WOODS 



breathing deeply of the vivifying air, 

 felt the wild impulse to run away? 

 Away anywhere would do, just to be 

 moving somewhere with mammoth 

 strides and heart as light and carefree 

 as a ten-year-old; away from the pro- 

 saic, everyday things of life, and go 

 search for the land of Arcadia. This 

 is the primal instinct following us 

 down through the ages, from cave to 

 tepee, from tepee to hut and from hut 

 to apartment. It is the ancient germ 

 of restlessness which rouses us, even 

 as it did the nomad, eons and eons ago. 

 A voice from the pond awoke, and 

 was joined by another and another. 

 As the nights became warmer a perfect 

 oratorio of praise ascended along the 

 creek and far back to the dark pools 

 of the woods. The clear musical voices 

 of the toads, tremulous and sustained 

 in their calls, drown all other voices 

 of the night and continue even after 

 the dawn. They are true harbingers of 

 Summer warmth. 



At this time the Beech Woods begin 

 to take on new life. In the centre, 

 18 



