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THE AUDUBON BULLETIN 



Photo by J. V. Needham 



Winter Woods 



Now that Nature's lavish mood has gone, she can invite you to a more 

 intimate companionship with her. Those who really love her will seek 

 her when she is at leisure. They will discern the beauty of bare branches, 

 which make such exquisite etchings against the Winter sky ; of wind-swept 

 hills, keen in outline; ragged, undraped bushes casting violet shadows on 

 the snow ; the gleam of blue ice, showing reflections of swamp grass on its 

 surface. 



A sunset in such woods is a never-to-be-forgotten glory. How glad 

 you are that there are no heavily foliaged trees, rimming yonder hill, to 

 dim your vision. Mayhap there is the flash of a gorgeous red-winged 

 spirit, who sits with raised crest on yonder bough, cutting the stillness with 

 the richest and most joyous whistle ever heard from a bird's throat, — the 

 cardinal, monarch of all he surveys, subsisting on the few seeds left in last 

 year's supply of weeds or the chick-feed you scatter about the coop. His 

 voice stands out matchless, for there is no other to interrupt him, except, 

 perhaps, the flute-like call of the titmouse, who wishes very much to be 

 heard right now. He is a mouse-colored bird, and "pomps" his hair in 

 quite the same style as the cardinal. 



On the very coldest days, you might hear the chickadee. A more 

 friendly little body could not be found. A few cracked nuts and bits of 

 suet, accompanied by your coaxing "do-ti" will bring him right to your 

 feet. And he will thank you by day-day-ing above your head or whistling 

 his two little Spring love notes. 



A downy woodpecker beats a tattoo on the old oak across the way, a 



