The Changeful Skies 21 



steel-blue canopy, when there is not a trace 

 of life within sight or hearing ? The cloud- 

 less sky of June is not that of January. 



Because there were few birds, fewer 

 flowers, and but little green grass where I 

 chanced to wander, I took the hint from 

 Ovid : the skies are open let us try the 

 skies. So I looked long upon them as they 

 overhung the old meadows, old as the glacial 

 period, and yet how new as compared with 

 the sky that now looked down upon them ! 

 To-day the sky was blue, fading to violet, 

 with one great white cloud that slowly 

 marched to intercept the sun. It was with 

 keen pleasure that I watched this rolled and 

 rounded mass of drifted snow, for such it 

 seemed, draw near. It did not dissolve nor 

 hurry in torn fragments from the fray, but 

 with bold front shut out the sunbeams. 

 What a marvellous change takes place when 

 the meadows are shifted from sunshine to 

 shade ! That short-lived shadow brought in 

 its train a whispering breeze, but so gently 

 did it pass that I fancied it was the shadow 

 itself that whispered. 



A word here as to the imagination. If it 

 is kept within too close bounds, your outing 



