A Snowdrift Is A Beautiful Thing -

For Anyone Who Lives In The Oak-and-maple Area Of New England, There Is A Perennial Temptation To Plunge Into A Purple Sea Of Adjectives About October.

A Root, A Stem, A Leaf, Some Means Of Capturing Sunlight And Air And Making Food - In Sum, A Plant. The Green Substance Of This Earth, The Chlorophyll, Is All Summed Up In The Plants. Without Them We Perish, All Of Us Who Are Flesh And Blood.

You Fight Dandelions All Weekend, And Late Monday Afternoon There They Are, Pert As All Get Out, In Full And Gorgeous Bloom, Pretty As Can Be, Thriving As Only Dandelions Can In The Face Of Adversity.

Here And There One Sees The Blush Of Wild Rose Haws Or The Warmth Of Orange Fruit On The Bittersweet, And Back In The Woods Is The Occasional Twinkle Of Partridgeberries. But They Are The Gem Stones, The Rare Decorations Which Make The Grays, The Browns And The Greens Seem Even More Quiet, More Completely At Rest.

There Are No Idealists In The Plant World And No Compassion. The Rose And The Morning Glory Know No Mercy. Bindweed, The Morning Glory, Will Quickly Choke Its Competitors To Death, And The Fencerow Rose Will Just As Quietly Crowd Out Any Other Plant That Tried To Share Its Roothold. Idealism And Mercy Are Human Terms And Human Concepts.