THE NAMELESS SEASON 



It is quite as likely that the open lands 

 are still under the worn and dusty blanket 

 of snow, smirched with all the litter cast 

 upon it by cross-lot-faring teams, and win- 

 try winds blowing for months from every 

 quarter. The same untidiness pervades 

 all outdoors. We could never believe that 

 so many odds and ends could have been 

 thrown out of doors helter-skelter, in 

 three months of ordinary life, till the 

 proof confronts us on the surface of the 

 subsiding snow or lies stranded on the 

 bare earth. The wind comes with an 

 icier breath from the wintrier north, and 

 yet blows untempered from the south, 

 over fields by turns frozen and sodden, 

 through which the swollen brooks rush in 

 yellow torrents with sullen monotonous 

 complaint. 



One may get more comfort in the woods, 

 though the snow still lies deep in their 

 shelter ; for here may be found the sugar- 

 maker's camp, with its mixed odors of 

 pungent smoke and saccharine steam, its 

 wide environment of dripping spouts and 

 tinkling tin buckets, signs that at last the 

 pulse of the trees is stirred by a subtle 

 promise of returning spring. 



