SPRING JOTTINGS 167 



I never can tell. Up the road in the distance the 

 multitudinous voice of the little peepers, — a thicket 

 or screen of sound. An April twilight is unlike any 

 other. 



April 12. Lovely, bright day. We plow the 

 ground under the hill for the new vineyard. In 

 opening the furrow for the young vines I guide the 

 team by walking in their front. How I soaked up 

 the sunshine to-day! At night I glowed all over; 

 my whole being had had an earth-bath ; such a feel- 

 ing of freshly plowed land in every cell of my 

 brain. The furrow had struck in; the sunshine had 

 photographed it upon my soul. 



April 13. A warm, even hot April day. The 

 air full of haze ; the sunshine golden. In the after- 

 noon J. and I walk out over the country north of 

 town. Everybody is out, all the paths and byways 

 are full of boys and young fellows. We sit on a 

 wall a long time by a meadow and orchard, and 

 drink in the scene. April to perfection, such a sen- 

 timent of spring everywhere. The sky is partly 

 overcast, the air moist, just enough so to bring out 

 the odors, — a sweet perfume of bursting, growing 

 things. One could almost eat the turf like a horse. 

 All about the robins sang. In the trees the crow 

 blackbird cackled and jingled. Athwart these sounds 

 came every half minute the clear, strong note of the 

 meadowlark. The larks were very numerous and 

 were lovemaking. Then the high-hole called and 

 the bush sparrow trilled. Arbutus days these, 

 everybody wants to go to the woods for arbutus; it 



