IN APATHETIC AUGUST 



THE air is ever full of meaning sounds, 

 but are our heads full of wit to interpret 

 them ? Can there be an unmeaning sound, 

 mere noise without significance ? I think 

 not. It is August now, and there is a marked 

 lull in the flood of bird-music that for months 

 has overswept the fields. The dew for the 

 sun has just risen still weighs heavily upon 

 the grass, and there is no lively creaking yet 

 of the heat-defying crickets. But I press my 

 ear lightly to the cool ground, and there is 

 plainly heard the steady hum of many activ- 

 ities, albeit there is no name for any one 

 of them. The quiet earth is busy as a bee, 

 yet there is no sign of her labors ; none, at 

 least, save the low uninterrupted sound that 

 only those who listen most carefully can 

 hear. An unnoticed, all-neglefted sound, 

 but not unmeaning. We lack the power of 

 its interpretation, that is all, and fling at it 



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