211 
WINTER BUDS 
When the cold, steady north wind of autumn comes 
down with the oppressive sweetness of a dirge, and 
the withered leaves are torn away and hurried along 
to their unknown lodgments in the furrowed ground, 
it may soften the tragedy of their passing to reflect 
that each leaf has been pushed aside and crowded off 
in the active preparations of its coming successor. 
Secure in all the protected angles, where the leaf 
stems joined the twigs and smaller branches, the 
little buds have been growing, carefully enclosing 
in their diminutive forms an infinite variety of leaves 
and flowers. That a tiny bud not as large as a pea 
can contain a perfectly formed bunch of flowers 
enfolded in equally perfect leaves is a revelation of 
nature's strange, resourceful ways. There are buds 
holding only a single leaf or flower, others with only 
a male or a female flower, still others with both leaves 
and flowers enfolded together, perfect in their 
microscopic development. Here and there in late 
autumn a few lonely leaves will be found partly 
withered but still clinging to a twig or branch. If 
they are examined it will be found that for some reason 
the little buds that were to crowd them off have 
failed to develop, while all about the scars where other 
leaves have clung are almost covered by the little 
thatched habitations of next season's foliage. 
