THE GOLDEN-WINGED WOODPECKER 



dry husky beat of his wings emphasizes 

 the apparent fact of drouth as you walk 

 on the desiccated slippery herbage of 

 meadow and pasture, the golden-wings 

 with all their grown-up family fly up be- 

 fore you from their feast on the ant hills 

 and go flashing and flickering away like 

 rockets shot aslant, into the green tent 

 of the wild cherry trees to their dessert 

 of juicy black fruit. 



Early in the dreariness of November, 

 they have vanished with all the horde 

 of summer residents who have made 

 the season of leaf, flower, and fruit the 

 brighter by their presence. The deso- 

 late leafless months go by, till at last 

 comes the promise of spring, and you are 

 aware of a half unconscious listening for 

 the golden-wings. Presently the loud, 

 long, joyous iteration breaks upon your 

 ear, and you hail the fulfillment of the 

 promise and the blithe new comer, a 

 golden link in the lengthening chain 

 that is encircling the earth. 

 62 



