The Changeful Skies 27 



ramie sky ; as the skies of early June, blue 

 of incomparable shade, with white clouds, 

 pink-edged and piled into fantastic shapes, 

 great castles that are unbuilt before you can 

 people them with the merry elfs and fays of 

 the month of roses. In June we have those 

 bright skies that deepen when the day is done 

 to blue-black, and, losing their flatness, are 

 lifted to a hollow dome that, star-studded, 

 shows you at last how very far away it really 

 is. The skies that at noon rested on the 

 tree-tops that hem in the little space about us 

 grow immeasurably grand at midnight ; and 

 when from out these starlit skies we hear 

 strange voices, they assume a new impor- 

 tance, and we begin to realize better their 

 significance. The upper region, our sky, is 

 seldom lacking in animal life. Probably 

 hundreds of birds, in the course of a day, 

 pass over us, just out of sight ; and when in 

 the silent watches of the night we plainly 

 hear the voices of wanderers, a new chapter 

 of ornithology is opened to us. The clear- 

 toned call of a plover, the hoarse croak of a 

 raven, the chirping of many finches, the 

 fretful scream of an eagle, have all been 

 noted in a single night. We can only fol- 



