ILLINOIS AUDUBON SOCIETY 29 



Illinois River valley is treated by Morris Jessup ; Professor U. 

 S. Grant writes of a proposed extension of the Starved Rock 

 area ; Jens Jensen of the Savannah Headlands of the Mississippi ; 

 Dr. H. S. Pepoon of the Apple River Canon, and Frederick H. 

 Pattee of the Rock River Country. A foreword by the Presi- 

 dent of the society, Jens Jensen, introduces this very interest- 

 ing and valuable report to the public. Copies of this Bulletin 

 may be obtained of Mr. Jensen by addressing him at Ravinia. 



Alone in the Twilight 



Alone, alone in the twilight, — alone with my thoughts. 

 Thinking of mother at home, of the bird singing in yonder tree, 

 of a girl I once knew, of many things, and of the setting sun. 



Golden rays fleck the slender leaves of the drooping willows. 

 A dead twig falls seemingly without sound into the quietness of 

 the pool before me. All is hushed. Ripples, tiny ripples, grow 

 wider and yet wider as they approach the shore. They, too, are 

 flecked with gold, gold from the glowing sun. Everything is 

 golden, — all is dream-like. 



Far in the distance a tiny song sparrow is singing. He 

 seems to twitter, "Peace, peace, peace, peace be unto you." 



The sun, like a fiery plate, sinks lower. Little fleecy clouds, 

 rainbow-hued, play hide-and-seek around their bigger brothers. 



A faint breeze waves the willow leaves and their shadows 

 move around in the water below. 



Lower still sinks the sun until at last it touches the horizon. 



Shadows darken. 



Somewhere near at hand a robin warbles an evening serenade 

 to his brown-eyed mate. A thrasher pleads his cause; and the 

 crickets chorus. 



The sun sets ; and its rays of rosy light blend into the haze of 

 evening. Darkness is coming. 



Out of the encircling shadows comes a plaintive cry, 

 "Whip poor Will-1-1! Whip poor Will-11-11-1? Will-1! Will-1-1?" 



From across the pool an owl calls, "Who-o-o? Who-o-o-o?" 



A frog gurgles from the water and the crickets renew their 

 chorus. 



Night has come. John H. Sutter 



Photo by John H. Sutter 



