Once in a while the
species was plainly distinguishable; I could make out the bobolink,
tanager, Wilson's thrush, white-crown'd sparrow, and occasionally from
high in the air came the notes of the plover.
BUMBLE-BEES
May-month--month of swarming, singing, mating birds--the bumble-bee
month--month of the flowering lilac-(and then my own birth-month.) As
I jot this paragraph, I am out just after sunrise, and down towards
the creek. The lights, perfumes, melodies--the blue birds, grass birds
and robins, in every direction--the noisy, vocal, natural concert.
For undertones, a neighboring wood-pecker tapping his tree, and the
distant clarion of chanticleer. Then the fresh-earth smells--the
colors, the delicate drabs and thin blues of the perspective. The
bright green of the grass has receiv'd an added tinge from the last
two days' mildness and moisture. How the sun silently mounts in the
broad clear sky, on his day's journey! How the warm beams bathe all,
and come streaming kissingly and almost hot on my face.
A while since the croaking of the pond-frogs and the first white of
the dog-wood blossoms. Now the golden dandelions in endless profusion,
spotting the ground everywhere. The white cherry and pear-blows--the
wild violets, with their blue eyes looking up and saluting my feet, as
I saunter the wood-edge--the rosy blush of budding apple-trees--the
light-clear emerald hue of the wheat-fields--the darker green of the
rye--a warm elasticity pervading the air--the cedar-bushes
profusely deck'd with their little brown apples--the summer fully
awakening--the convocation of black birds, garrulous flocks of them,
gathering on some tree, and making the hour and place noisy as I sit
near.
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