Heese b OLN e BU Ee iN 
December (Chicagoland) 
Above, the leaden sky; 
Beneath, the sodden earth; 
Only the birds and I, 
Of other life a dearth. 
No festive wren or robin bold, 
Nor oriole nor kingbird; 
With many these had fled the cold, 
But some there were that lingered. 
The creeper brown ran up, flew down; 
The titmouse frolicked freely; 
The nuthatch of the ruddy breast 
Crept up or down as pleased him best; 
The starling’s spots were steely. 
The kinglet of the golden crown 
Among the branches speeded ; 
The chickadee hung upside down 
An acrobat conceded. 
The woodpecker (the downy one) 
From tree to tree was flying; 
His rat-a-tat, not all in fun, 
For sleeping grubs was prying. 
And best of all the cardinal 
My lonely vigil greeted; 
The junco, too, with startled call 
To thicker brush retreated. 
Only the birds and I 
There in the lonely wood; 
A hint of mystery, 
A soothing solitude. 
W. FOSTER HAYES. 
23 
