WEEDS ABOVE THE SNOW 



THERE is a foot of snow on the ground, lying 

 almost level, for it fell quietly, and during a 

 warm day and night, so that it was lightly 

 crusted before the wind came up. Only on the most 

 exposed slopes has the northwest wind, which draws 

 strongly down our valley beneath the shaggy moun- 

 tain wall, been able to ruffle the surface into tiny 

 drifts, like the waves of a choppy sea, or like the 

 sand of the Sahara. Skeeing rapidly over such a sur- 

 face is beset with much the same perils as sailing a 

 canoe through a chop. 



My brook is now a beautiful thing, not in the 

 least resembling any of its spring or summer aspects. 

 If you should load a flexible brush heavily with 

 black oil-paint, and then draw it in a wavy line 

 across a sheet of thick, soft, clear white paper, you 

 might approximate the appearance of my brook 



