to the peculiar song of the cow-bird, which begins with hollow
guttural sounds, followed by a burst of loud clear ringing notes.

These concert-singers, the little green and yellow field finch and the
purple cow-bird, were with us all the year round, with many others
which it would take a whole chapter to tell of. When, in July and
August, I watched for the coming spring, it was the migrants, the
birds that came annually to us from the far north, that chiefly
attracted me. Before their arrival the bloom was gone from the peach
trees, and the choir of countless little finches broken up and
scattered all over the plain. Then the opening leaves were watched,
and after the willows the first and best-loved were the poplars.
During all the time they were opening, when they were still a
yellowish-green in colour, the air was full of the fragrance, but not
satisfied with that I would crush and rub the new small leaves in my
hands and on my face to get the delicious balsamic smell in fuller
measure. And of all the trees, after the peach, the poplars appeared
to feel the new season with the greatest intensity, for it seemed to
me that they felt the sunshine even as I did, and they expressed it in
their fragrance just as the peach and other trees did in their
flowers. And it was also expressed in the new sound they gave out to
the wind. The change was really wonderful when the rows on rows of
immensely tall trees which for months had talked and cried in that
strange sibilant language, rising to shrieks when a gale was blowing,
now gave out a larger volume of sound, more continuous, softer,
deeper, and like the wash of the sea on a wide shore.

The other trees would follow, and by and by all would be in full
foliage once more, and ready to receive their strange beautiful guests
from the tropical forests in the distant north.