88 The Witchery of Winter 



send narrow lines of darkness over the un- 

 trodden snow. The shades of leafy summer 

 are shrunken. There are dimly lighted 

 nooks where cedars cluster and crannies that 

 are well defended by the frozen ferns, but 

 light is all-pervading, in a general sense, and 

 how wide open alike are the fields and forest ! 

 The opened door is an invitation to enter, 

 but how slow are we to accept the invitation 

 of winter, when the leafy curtains are with- 

 drawn and the world more than ever open to 

 inspection ! Are we to be forever afraid to 

 look through the bare twigs to the sky above, 

 lest we see the new moon barred by a branch 

 and so tremble for our luck? The naked 

 beam and rafter of Nature's temple are not 

 desolate as the ruins of man's handiwork, for 

 we know that their covering will be renewed 

 in due season. Trees, indeed, in their un- 

 dress uniform are none the less natural and 

 forever retain their individuality. The 

 wrinkles of their bark are their autographs, 

 and we should learn to read them. 



But what is winter to me ? The brook, 

 the leafless trees, the frozen grass, and all 

 hungry life, whether bird or beast, protest, 

 but I find no reason to complain. My 



