THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



has come. It is almost unbelievable. And people 

 passing through the square who have forgotten all 

 about the Spring look up suddenly and smile, and say : 

 " Look at the Almond tree. Spring is here." Those 

 who know the country turn their minds inwards and 

 remember that the brown owls have begun to hoot, 

 that the gossamer is floating, that, here and there 

 yellow and white butterflies are flitting, looking strangely 

 out of season, that the raven is building, and the rooks 

 too, and that all sorts of birds they had forgotten are 

 seen in the land. 



After that the big trees in the square become hazy 

 with bursting bud, and one morning, as if some message 

 had been whispered overnight, the far side of the square 

 is only to be seen through a screen of the tenderest 

 green. Bit by bit the leaves comes out, get bright, 

 clean washed by showers, get dingy with the soot. Then 

 comes the fall of the leaf and the crisp curl of it as it 

 changes colour, and the far side of the square begins to 

 show again through bronze-coloured leaves. At last 

 the Winter comes and all that is left is the tracery of 

 boughs and twigs, and heaps of dead, beautiful-coloured 

 leaves beneath the trees. These still provide an in- 

 terest, for the wind comes and picks them up and 

 whirls them right up into the air in all sorts of amazing 

 dances and games. 



In the Winter one last beauty comes. The day has 

 been leaden, sad-coloured, bitterly cold. All the cab- 

 men on the rank stamp with their feet, and swing their 

 arms to keep themselves warm, and there is a little 

 mist where all the horses breathe. And people coming 

 through the square have forgotten the Almond tree, 

 and the look of the big trees when the hot sun splashed 

 gold on their leaves, and they say, looking at the sky, 

 " See how dark it is, it is going to snow." The snow 



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