174 WITH EARTH AND SKY 
reposefully and regard unhastingly the vivid 
green of the swaying mistletoe. 
In a world of hurry it is so refreshing not to 
hurry and not to need to, but to make faces at 
haste as at a school-teacher when her back is 
turned or school lets out in spring. Haste has 
been so intrusive on my leisure that I dote on 
snubbing her (or should I say him?), and the 
wind puffs her cheeks and the trees swayed and 
creaked as thinking themselves rheumatic and the 
blaze of green mistletoe badgering me as to say: 
“You think it is winter. Dolt, it is June; see my 
green at the trees’ top.” I said, “It is June, deny 
me if you dare.” When I was too filled ‘with 
comfort and my heart was too full of praise in 
such an hour of peace to let the pert mistletoe 
prod me into disputation, but changing from one 
elbow to another I winked and said “Mistletoe, 
have your way,” and shut my eyes and listened 
to the voices of the December wind fretting in 
the treetops although they were not Decem- 
berly. 
Should this piece of vagabondage come to have 
a reader, she-he or he-she might captiously sug- 
gest this essay is entitled “Gathering Christmas 
Mistletoe.” It is miscaptioned. Hie thee, 
loiterer, to thy task. Ah, friend (he or she), you 
mistake this case. This is a loitering loiterer’s 
expedition. This is no rush telegram, but a 
“male” order. Come, reader, be thyself loiterer. 
Give thy speed surcease. Speed thee loiteringly. 
