230 THE FRIENDSHIP OF NATURE 



white mottled trunks of the silver birch 

 pole their way, and the cupped seed- 

 pods of the tulip tree give a dice-like 

 rattle in the wind. Look forward and 

 back at the thick woods of chestnut, 

 and the oaks with gray trunks, stretch- 

 ing in the distance. The orchard 

 twists iron-black branches where the 

 jays jeer, as they quarry the frozen 

 apples. The lane runnel is skimmed 

 by a crust of ice, which is broken and 

 jagged in places, and across it lies a 

 chestnut, felled years ago and aban- 

 doned as worthless until, nibbled by 

 fungi and lichens, it is slowly resolv- 

 ing into earth particles. In the border 

 of the swamp the long cat-tail flags, 

 gone to seed, wave wool-white, as if 

 the missing tails of Bo Peep's flock 

 were awaiting their owners. 



Under the path the runnel drops and 

 flows over the stones ; the green weeds 



