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Bird Day Book 



THE WOOD TRAILS 





T^HE wood trails are free trails — they take no traveler's toll ; 

 ■■■ A green way, a clean way, they go by hill and hollow. 

 You know their sudden summons by a hunger in your soul 



And wit to rise at break of day and follow, follow, follow. 

 Your fare is berries ripe and red and wild grades brimming over, 



And crystal waters cold as snow in two palms for a cup. 

 Your bed at nightfall balsam boughs with wide, star-tufted cover 



And sleep as deep as tranquil wells until the dawn comes up. 



The wood trails are fair trails — at every dip and turn 



The byways, the shy ways, are set with lovely wonder; 

 The lightest question step will leave a footprint on a fern. 



The grayest gnarled and ancient oak has violets nodding under. 

 And whether quick to amber brooks with beryl bubbles breaking. 



Or dim and slow through churchly pines, the little pathways go. 

 There's beauty for a lifted glance and treasure for the taking, 



And certain secret old delight that only wanderers know. 



The wood trails are long trails, mysterious and sweet — 



A far way, a star way, they set a pilgrim faring ; 

 And strangely, as you go the shoes are swifter on your feet, 



The old-time burden on your back is lighter for the bearing ; 

 While here a bough is blossoming and there a bush is burning, 



And every hour's a singing bird for every mile you roam . . . 

 And best of all — most blest of all — with never backward turning 



The wood trails, the good trails, they lead your spirit home! 



— Nancy Byrd Turner. 



