THINGS TO HEAR THIS FALL 95 



through the sky, on their way to the South. East or 

 west, on the Alantic or on the Pacific shore, or in 

 the vast valley of the Mississippi, you may hear at 

 night, so high in air that you cannot see the birds, 

 these voices of the passing migrants. Chink, chink, 

 chink ! will drop the calls of the bobolinks — fine, 

 metallic, starry notes ; honk, honk, honk ! the clarion 

 cry of the wild geese will ring along the aerial way, 

 as they shout to one another and to you, listening 

 far below them on the steadfast earth. 



Far away, yonder in the starry vault, far beyond 

 the reach of human eyes, a multitude of feathered 

 folk, myriads of them, are streaming over ; armies 

 of them winging down the long highway of the 

 sky from the frozen North, down to the rice fields 

 of the Carolinas, down to the deep tangled jungles of 

 the Amazon, down beyond the cold, cruel reach 

 of winter. 



Listen as they hail you from the sky. 



