"April showers bring forth May flowers," runs the homely rhyme of the old-time country folk. And in truth there is nothing that seems quite so life-giving as a warm rain in April, when all the earth is filled with springing vegetation, awaiting only the warming sun and moisture from above to encourage it. The sun breaking through the clouds of an April shower seems truly like smiles following tears. The marsh marigold, or cowslip, makes its appearance in the wet meadows, growing in water so icy that one marvels at its ability to survive the frosty nights.
We wonder if anyone nowadays gathers its succulent green leaves for "greens" as was a common custom in our boyhood days. What a wild sound is the drumming of the ruffed grouse. There is something weird and mysterious about it. It seems more like the voice of a tree, or the greeting of some god of the glen, than a sound made by a bird.
Whether one is near or far, there is little difference in its volume. If this bird were destroyed in our woods, no sound made by alien substitute can ever fill its place in our hearts. In the moist meadows, and even in waste fields, the delicately tinted flowers of the bluet (Houstonia) spread over the ground. Many persons have mildly wondered how thickly they grow, but wondering did not satisfy Thoreau, and he found about three thousand on a square foot. Now comes back the sapsucker, and with glad cries seeks out the site of last year's nesting.
Vocal exultation is not enough, so he beats his curious halting tattoo on a dry branch. The drumming of most woodpeckers is a regular roll, but this gay cavalier is not content with the conventional, so greets his lady with a serenade that, though seemingly hesitant, still proves as successful as the sweetest warbling of more ambitious songsters.
At this time the snipe, first cousin to the woodcock, begins his "winnowing" high in air over the marshes. Early in the morning or in the late afternoon are favorite times, but on cloudy days one may hear it at any time of the day. It is a rumbling sound, redolent of open spaces and dizzy heights, and is the greeting of the male bird to his mate. Truly, love stories may be told in various languages.
If you would drink to the full the beauty of an April morning, seek out some spot in our northeast where a grove of century-old white pines rear their trunks aloft, with upper branches almost meeting in a green canopy. The warming south-borne wind, stealing through those needle-studded sprays, sings such a song as may be heard nowhere else on earth.
About this Author
David is the author of many articles including Best Friend Quotes and also the author of Best life quotes
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