BIRDS IN A VILLAGE 43 



foliage of the tall trees* On entering the wood I 

 would stand still for a few minutes to listen to the 

 various sounds until that one fascinating sound would 

 come to my ears from some distance away, and to 

 that spot I would go to find a bed of last year's 

 leaves to sit upon and listen. It was an enchanting 

 experience to be there in that woodland twilight 

 with the green cloud of leaves so far above me, to 

 listen to the silence, to the faint whisper of the 

 wind-touched leaves, then to little prelusive drops 

 of musical sound, growing louder and falling faster 

 until they ran into one prolonged trill. And 

 there I would sit listening for half an hour or a 

 whole hour ; but the end would not come ; the 

 bird is indefatigable and with his mysterious talk 

 in the leaves would tire the sun himself and send 

 him down the sky : for not until the sun has set and 

 the wood has grown dark does the singing cease. 



On emerging from the deep shade of the beeches 

 into the wide grassy road that separated the wood 

 from the orchards and plantations of fruit trees, 

 and pausing for a minute to look down on the more 

 than half-hidden village, invariably the first loud 

 sounds that reached my ear were those of the cuckoo, 

 thrush, and blackbird. At all hours in the village, 

 from early morning to evening twilight, these three 

 voices sounded far and near above the others, I 

 considered myself fortunate that no large tree near 



