DECEMBER. 315 



basin is more full of vigorous, active life than now, when 

 it has greener growths, or creatures more alive to their 

 own little world ; yet we are wont to think of winter as 

 a dead season ; or, if not dead, sleeping. 



. And I recall now a holiday visit years ago, when the 

 snow covered all the ground, and a biting north wind 

 screamed through the naked branches of the oaks near 

 by. It was the same spring then. Long I lingered by its 

 side, forgetful of all else, and, as the day closed, suddenly 

 a flood of sunlight swept over the meadows. The win- 

 dows of my neighbor's house were all aflame. Color, 

 color everywhere, as I glanced for the last time into the 

 crystalline depths before me, over the wide meadows 

 about me, over the cloud-flecked horizon beyond the 

 distant hills. A melting rainbow showered the whole 

 world ; but for me, it was then, and ever will be, here, a 

 green Christmas. 



