On the Birds' Highway 



WINTER BIRDS 



THE sky is gray, a few great snow- 

 flakes are softly falling on the 

 autumn-painted leaves ; it is the first 

 storm of the winter, and, as the flakes grow 

 thicker and thicker and the shadows of 

 a November afternoon stretch out their 

 dusky fingers across the whitening ground, 

 another year's foliage is laid to rest. The 

 sun is a tardy riser now and the birds tardy 

 risers too. How changed the woodland 

 as we stand looking out across the meadow 

 to the woods ! The earth has donned 

 her polar robes and greets the fiery sun 

 immaculate. Shall we break that even 

 mantle, pierced by weeds and scarred only 

 by birds' and mammals' tread? If we 

 are to wish our friends good morning, we 

 must, though as we part the virgin snow 



