How happy the birds
are all summer and some of them all winter; how the pouched marmots
drive tunnels under the snow, and how fine and brave a life the
slandered coyote lives here, and the deer and bears! But, knowing well
the difference between reading and seeing, I will only ask attention to
some brief sketches of its varying aspects as they are presented
throughout the more marked seasons of the year.
The summer life we have been depicting lasts with but little abatement
until October, when the night frosts begin to sting, bronzing the
grasses, and ripening the leaves of the creeping heathworts along the
banks of the stream to reddish purple and crimson; while the flowers
disappear, all save the goldenrods and a few daisies, that continue to
bloom on unscathed until the beginning of snowy winter. In still nights
the grass panicles and every leaf and stalk are laden with frost
crystals, through which the morning sunbeams sift in ravishing splendor,
transforming each to a precious diamond radiating the colors of the
rainbow. The brook shallows are plaited across and across with slender
lances of ice, but both these and the grass crystals are melted before
midday, and, notwithstanding the great elevation of the meadow, the
afternoons are still warm enough to revive the chilled butterflies and
call them out to enjoy the late-flowering goldenrods.
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