A BUSH CALENDAR 



it. Across the clearing, where the grass seems always green, 

 thousands of dandelions held up bright discs to the sun; just 

 beyond, the early light blazed upon the vivid tips of the saplings, 

 now no longer red, but turned to gleaming, burnished copper, 

 and between and above and through all floated hundreds and 

 hundreds of yellow butterflies. Never have I seen so many; 

 the air was filled with their flittering wings, and as I walked 

 I had to step carefully for fear of crushing them. Sometimes 

 one would light upon a dead branch on the ground and fold 

 its wings. Instantly the yellow would disappear, and in its 

 place would be found what looked exactly like a dead brown 

 leaf. But only a few rested; the others floated here, there, and 

 everywhere, like living sunbeams. Even in the early morning 

 light the picture was one of golden summer, and after gazing 



entranced for a few minutes I 

 hastened instinctively across to 

 the shelter of the trees. 



Here I found the things I had 

 come out to see. All round me 

 sounded the feeble " peeks " and 

 hushed "chirrups" of young birds 

 and their parents. November 

 and December might be called 

 the "mother" months, so full is 

 the bush just now of baby birds. 

 The loud, gay songs of early 



Squawking Kahy Kingfishers 



