to warm from gray to gold and below black twigs
make lace against an amber glow that draws one as does the flame
the moth. At such a time the cold of the night may lie bitter on
the open fields and the snow crystals there whine beneath the
tread, but in the deep heart of the woods the warmth of the day
before is still held entangled, an afterglow of the sun that waits
his golden coming once more. At that hour I like to set my course
eastward. The wind, if there be one, will be at my back and half
its keenness dulled thereby, and the ever visible, growing promise
of the sun warms almost as much as his later presence.

Our coldest midwinter nights are still and the tangle of the trees
enmeshes a protecting warmth that the outside cold cannot
penetrate altogether. This is the outer winter overcoat of the
woods. Even deciduous trees provide it and the level boughs of
evergreens give layer after layer of air that fends from the cold.
Even without the snow, the frost penetrates but a little way in
the earth of the woods. No matter how low the temperature above
the tree-tops and in the open spaces, the ground beneath the trees
hardly freezes, and, if the snow comes, the moment its blanket is
spread the temperature beneath it warms to above freezing and the
frost comes out. Deep snows are hard on certain winter birds, but
they are the salvation of many of the smaller winter animals and
they provide man with one of the chief joys of the winter woods.

Going forth at dawn one has the full joy of the day before him and
need leave no pleasure untasted. It is something worth while to
meet the sun on such a morning. No wonder the ancient Persians
worshipped him. Even his first rays enfold you with a warmth that
the thermometer might not notice but which is none the less real
for all that. They set the fires of the spirit burning more
brightly, warming the cockles of the heart and raising the
temperature of the man if not that of the air about him. The
pleasure of the pathless woods which is to be yours for all day is
sweetest in the first encounter. Toward the sun your goal glows
with red fire and the woods seem in its burning to celebrate your
advent. You move eastward the chief figure in the procession.

For it always seems to me as if at winter sunrise all things of
the wood move forward in this matutinal procession of welcome to
the coming warmth of the new day. As a matter of fact, of course,
they do. The whole round earth i