80 WITH EARTH AND SKY 
ran far up into the clouds and looked like in- 
verted water spouts grown frosty. There was 
snow on the ground in plenty, but the mark of 
the day was that the brawling wind coveted the 
snow for the angry sky and would not let the 
ground retain the snow fall but would scoop it 
up and fling it in vast and windy handfuls back 
into the sky spaces whence it came. It made 
a man proud who loves the wind to see the 
unchallenged ‘supremacy the gale had. What a 
high day it was for such as love the rampant 
fury of the unleashed winds. But where are 
the larks? They know. I do not. To-morrow 
likely enough they will be as cocksure as they 
were yesterday. 
Birds have no shame about lying. They are 
so busy singing. Are singers mendacious? What 
heresy is this to raise so unmusical a question! 
But the meadow larks will not apologize nor 
will they explain. I am confident of that. I 
know them. Their truthfulness is in a back- 
slidden state. How the storm masters us all! 
The cars run by fits. The starts are there too; 
but the fits are the main matter of observation. 
Spring has gone off on a swift and compulsory 
journey. And we are not ill content. Winter 
is good. Let it stay a spell. Its anger is not 
obnoxious but palatable. The rage of the day- 
long, from dawn to dark, the skeins of snow, 
the blinding drift, the stagger of strong men 
before the wind, the drench of the whole firma- 
