THE ART OF SEEING THINGS 



by some accident or untoward circumstance. Or 

 do the wings of genius always unfold, no matter 

 what the environment may be? 



One seldom takes a walk without encountering 

 some of this fine print on nature's page. Now it is a 

 little yellowish-white moth that spreads itself upon 

 the middle of a leaf as. if to imitate the droppings of 

 birds; or it is the young cicadas working up out of 

 the ground, and in the damp, cool places building 

 little chimneys or tubes above the surface to get 

 more warmth and hasten their development; or it is 

 a wood-newt gorging a tree-cricket, or a smaU snake 

 gorging the newt, or a bird song with some striking 

 peculiarity — a strange defect, or a rare excellence. 

 Now it is a shrike impaling his victim, or blue 

 jays mocking and teasing a hawk and dropping 

 quickly into the branches to avoid his angry blows, 

 or a robin hustling a cuckoo out of the tree where 

 her nest is, or a vireo driving away a cowbird, or 

 the partridge blustering about your feet till her 

 young are hidden. One October morning I was 

 walking along the road on the edge of the woods, 

 when I came into a gentle shower of butternuts; 

 one of them struck my hat-brim. I paused and 

 looked about me; here one fell, there another, 

 yonder a third. There was no wind blowing, and 

 I wondered what was loosening the butternuts. 

 Turning my attention to the top of the tree, I soon 

 saw the explanation: a red squirrel was at work 

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