AN ICE-STORM 



perhaps is comforted that the same con- 

 ditions impose a truce upon his enemies 

 the hounds. The squirrel sits fasting 

 in his chamber, longing for the stores 

 that are locked from their owner in his 

 cellar. It is the dismalest of all storms 

 for the wood folk, despite all the splen- 

 dor wherewith it adorns their realm. 



One holds out his hand and lifts his 

 face skyward to assure himself that the 

 rain has ceased, for there is a continual 

 clattering patter as if it were yet falling. 

 But it is only the crackling of the icy 

 trees and the incessant dropping of 

 small fragments of their burden. 



The gray curtain of the sky drifts 

 asunder, and the low sun shines through. 

 It glorifies the earth with the flash and 

 gleam of ten million diamonds set every- 

 where. The fire and color of every gem 

 that was ever delved burn along the bor- 

 ders of the golden pathway that stretches 

 from your feet far away to the silver por- 

 tals of the mountains that bar our glit- 

 tering world from the naming sky. 



The pallid gloom of the winter night 

 falls upon the earth. Then the full moon 

 throbs up behind the scintillating barrier 

 279 



