THE BEECH WOODS 



followed down the hollows in grotesque 

 shapes, enveloping the trees in their 

 ghostlike arms, then spreading, came 

 creeping flatly along the ground to 

 rise and pour over the low fences and 

 gradually vanish in the sunlight. 



Each blade of grass and leaf held its 

 crystal of dew which sparkled from its 

 green setting like a perfect peridot. 

 The little spider webs, cunningly set in 

 the grass, held a film of moisture which 

 turned the transparent nets into silver 

 veils, incidentally disclosing to all pass- 

 ing insects the secret web of death. 



An early, chipping sparrow emerged 

 from a bush by the fence, nervously 

 twitching her tail, and wiped her bill 

 on a dead twig. A hurrying bee sped 

 through the Morning mist, its droning 

 flight sounding full of promise as it 

 disappeared. A red-headed woodpecker 

 pounded a tattoo on a hollowed tree 

 and sent loud echoes flying back and 

 forth, disturbing the quiet. 



Now a voice of alarm sounded in the 

 Beech Woods this Summer Morning. 

 It spread abroad from East to West 

 102 



