(Brother Alfred Brousseau)
Like liquid gold the wheat field lies,
A marvel of yellow and russet and green,
That ripples and runs, and floats and flies
With subtle shadows flies a change, and a sheen.
-- And the colors, they run to the western sun
Through the sheaves of the ripening wheat.
Each thing upward tends,
by necessity decreed,
And a world's support depends
upon the shooting of seed.
O the fluttering and the pattering
of those green things growing.
How they talk each to each,
when none of us are knowing.
The child, the seed, the grain of corn,
the acorn on the hill,
Each for some separate end
is born in season fit, and still --
Each must in strength arise
to work the Almighty will.
What, is the jay more precious than the lark
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Grasshopper, your fairy song
And my poem alike belong
To the deep and silent earth,
From which all poetry has birth;
All we say and all we sing
Is but the murmuring of that drowsy heart of hers
When from her deep dream she stirs;
If we sorrow, or rejoice,
You and I are but her voice.
When the foxfire burns beside the river,
The crickets sing under tawny leaves,
And grasshopper fiddles solemnly quiver,
While the harvesters gather the sheaves.
|-- Gene Stratton Porter|
The thistles show beyond the brook
Dust on their down and bloom,
And out of many a weed-grown nook
The aster flowers look
With eyes of tender gloom.
In the summer of the summer,
when the hazy air is sweet
With the breath of crimson
and the days a-shine with heat,
When the sky is blue and burning
and the clouds a downy mass
When the breeze is idly dawdling,
there is music in the grass --
Just a thistly, whistly sound,
In the tangles near the ground;
Just a lisping, whisp'ring tune,
like a bumblebee's bassoon
In a far-away fantasia
is the music in the grass.
How deepening bright,
like mounting flame, doth burn
The golden-rod upon a thousand hills.
This is the Autumn's flower,
and to my soul
A token fresh of beauty and of life,
And life's supreme delight.
Strange flower, thy purple making haste
To glorify each blackened waste
Of fire-swept land
Is with a blessed meaning fraught
And we, when pain hath fully wrought,
There comes a perfume from the sunset land,
And from the sunset vapor comes a voice;
Someone in evening's gateway seems to stand
And o'er a flood of glory shout, "Rejoice!"
CROW -- A WAYSIDE FAIRYNote that may be in the nature note book almost any day in the year -- saw crows today.
Did you know that the Crow is a cousin of Magpie, Steller's Jay, Clarke's Nutcracker, and our American Raven?
Did you know that crows also have their place in poetry? We children learned this verse about them:
When the golden rod, uplifted
As a wayside benediction,
Cheers the traveler on his journey
Through the sultry hours of August,
Deep within the forest reaches,
In the shadow of the ledges,
Gather crows in friendly concourse.
All their notes are low and drowsy,
Muffled croaks and guttural cawings
All their motions speak contentment,
Tell of coolness, well-fed comfort.
ROAD RUNNERAugust 20th -- "Some folks have names that suit them, and some folks have names which really do not belong to them," says little James. I'm sure that Road Runner belongs in the first-mentioned class. The second time I saw Road Runner I hoped to have a race with him down the road, but the catching up with him was an impossibility.
August 11th -- We often meet them -- those Jamestown Weeds. Did you know that their cousins are Nightshade and Tobacco, Petunia, Tomato and Potato? Jamestown Weed has other names also -- Thorn Apple, Jimson Wed and Devil's Trumpet. Scientists call it Datura Stramonium. Not always has Jimson Weed dwelt in our land, for he came from Asia. In evening hours we children have watched Sphinx Moths came unto these flowers.
The clouds are at play
in the azure space,
And their shadows at play
on the bright green vale,
And here they stretch
to the frolic chase;
And there they roll
on the easy gale.
There's a dance of leaves
in that aspen bower,
There's a titter of winds
in that beechen tree,
There's a smile on the fruit
and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook
that runs to the sea.
God spoke! and from the arid scene
Sprang rich and verdant bowers,
Till all the earth was soft and green, --
he smiled; and there were flowers.
August 29th -- 'Tis many and many a wayside fairy that's cousin to another wayside fairy; and many a wayside fairy is a traveler from another land. The flower reception at which the attendance is greater than at all others is the reception which we hold for the Dandelion family, otherwise known as Compositae family. These are they are who invited unto the reception and many of them came from the wayside: Dandelion, Sunflower, Daisy, Aster, Thistle, Tansy, Black-eyed Susan, Dog-fennel, Burdock, Everlasting, Joe Pye Weed, Boneset, Fleabone, Yarrow, Compass-plant, Rosinplant Golden Coreopsis, Bur-marigold, Sneeze-weed, stick-tight, Golden Ragwart and Golden-rod. Did you know that these are all cousins? They are like an army marching on down through the years. Well equipped are the members of Dandelion family for this onward march, for each flower is made up of many little flowers grouped together, making a flowerhead. And to these flower heads come many insects who by their carrying pollen from flower to flower, help the plants in sending their plant children into the world. Flowers are beautiful, not just for our sakes, but for the sake of the little seed children that are to be. Plants advertise with their beautiful flowers inviting the insect visitors who bring from other flowers the pollen necessary that their lives may go on in the lives of their children. Isn't this a wonderful Fairyland?