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THE COMING OP SUMMER 



WHO shall say when one season ends and 

 another begins ? Only the almanac-makers 

 can fix these dates. It is like saying when babyhood 

 ends and childhood begins, or when childhood ends 

 and youth begins. To me spring begins when the 

 catkins on the alders and the pussy-willows begin 

 to swell; when the ice breaks up on the river and the 

 first sea-gulls come prospecting, northward. What- 

 ever the date — the first or the middle or the last of 

 March — when these signs appear, then I know 

 spring is at hand. Her first birds — the bluebird, 

 the song sparrow, the robin, the red-shouldered 

 starling — are here or soon will be. The crows 

 have a more confident caw, the sap begins to start 

 in the sugar maple, the tiny boom of the first bee 

 is heard, the downy woodpecker begins his resonant 

 tat, tat, tat, on the dry limbs, and the cattle in the 

 barnyard low long and loud with wistful looks 

 toward the fields. 



The first hint of summer comes when the trees 

 are fully fledged and the nymph Shadow is bom. 

 See her cool circles again beneath the trees in the 

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