Franconia Mountains (N.H.); Natural history -- Outdoor books; White Mountains (N.H. and Me.)
Not to blink at the truth, nevertheless, I must add a circumstance
which, till this moment, I had clean forgotten. I was still watching
the birds, with perhaps a dozen species in sight close at hand, when
suddenly I observed a something come over them, and on the instant a
large hawk skimmed the tops of the trees. In one second every bird
was gone,--vanished, as if at the touch of a necromancer’s wand. I
did not see them fly; there was no rush of wings; but the place was
empty; and though I waited for them, they did not reappear. Two or
three, indeed, I may have seen afterward, but the flock was gone. _My_
holiday, at all events, or that part of it, was done,--shadowed by a
hawk’s wing. Undoubtedly a few minutes of safety put the birds all in
comfortable spirits again, however; and anyhow, it bears out my theory
of remembered happiness, that this less cheerful part of the story had
so completely passed out of mind. Memory, like a sundial, had marked
only the bright hour.
Beyond this lonely barn the soil of the valley becomes drier and
sandier. Here are two or three houses, with broad hayfields about them,
in which live many vesper sparrows. No doubt they have lived here
longer than any of their present human neighbors. Even now they flit
along the wayside in advance of the foot-passenger, running a space,
after their manner, and anon taking wing to alight upon a fence rail.
Their year is done, but they linger still a few days, out of love for
the ancestral fields, or, it may be, in dread of the long journey, from
which some of them will pretty certainly never come back.
All the way up the road, though no mention has been made of it,
my eyes have been upon the low, bright-colored hills beyond the
river,--sugar-maple orchards all in yellow and red, a gorgeous
display,--or upon the mountains in front, Kinsman and the more distant
Moosilauke. The green meadow is a good place in which to look for
marsh hawks,--as well as of great use as a foreground,--and the hill
woods beyond are the resort of pileated woodpeckers. I have often seen
and heard them here, but there is no sign of them to-day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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