September 1 



O-DAY I found a treasure 

 trove. On the slope of a gentle 

 hill, beneath the shade of young 

 turpentines and sassafras trees, 

 all starred amongst the soft 

 green grass and maidenhair, 

 stood dozens and dozens of 

 the daintest flowers imaginable, 

 pale mauve and pure white 

 orchids. Their pale faces, lifted 

 skyward on the end of their 

 slender stems, gleamed like 

 stars amongst the short fronds 

 of fern, till a soft wind crept 

 past and set them fluttering like fettered butterflies. Every 

 fairylike blossom sang of spring, and the faint sweet scent which 

 came from them was like an odour from a past September. 

 Too lovely they were to touch, so I just sat and looked 'at them, 

 and dreamed long dreams the dreams that always stir and rise 

 as sunny-haired September creeps into the year. 



I was not the only dreamer in that beauty spot. A gentle 

 movement in a tree close by caught my eye, and, turning, I 

 saw a yellow-bob seated upon her nest. Built on the top of a 



EPACRIS 



