Thefrostheldformanyweeks,untilthebirdsweredyingrapidly.Everywhereinthefieldsandunderthehedgeslaytheraggedremainsoflapwings,starlings,thrushes,redwings,innumerableragged,bloodycloaksofbirds,whencethefleshwaseatenbyinvisiblebeastsofprey.Then,quitesuddenly,onemorning,thechangecame.Thewindwenttothesouth,cameofftheseawarmandsoothing.Intheafternoontherewerelittlegleamsofsunshine,andthedovesbegan,withoutinterval,slowlyandawkwardlytocoo.Thedoveswerecooing,thoughwithalabouredsound,asiftheywerestillwinter-stunned.Nevertheless,alltheafternoontheycontinuedtheirnoise,inthemildair,beforethefrosthadthawedofftheroad.Ateveningthewindblewgently,stillgatheringabruisingqualityoffrostfromthehardearth.Then,intheyellow-gleamysunset,wildbirdsbegantowhistlefaintlyintheblackthornthicketsofthestream-bottom.Itwasstartlingandalmostfrightening,aftertheheavysilenceoffrost.Howcouldtheysingatonce,whenthegroundwasthicklystrewnwiththetorncarcassesofbirds?Yetoutoftheeveningcametheuncertain,silverysoundsthatmadeone’ssoulstartalert,almostwithfear.Howcouldthelittlesilverbuglessoundtherallysoswiftly,inthesoftair,whentheearthwasyetbound?Yetthebirdscontinuedtheirwhistling,ratherdimlyandbrokenly,butthrowingthethreadsofsilver,germinatingnoiseintotheair.Itwasalmostapaintorealize,soswiftly,thenewworld.“Lemondeestmort.Vivelemonde!”Butthebirdsomittedeventhefirstpartoftheannouncement,theircrywasonlyafaint,blind,fecund“vive!”Thereisanotherworld.Thewinterisgone.Thereisanewworldofspring.Thevoiceoftheturtleisheardintheland.Butthefleshshrinksfromsosuddenatransition.Surelythecallispremature,whiletheclodsarestillfrozen,andthegroundislitteredwiththeremainsofwings!Yetwehavenochoice.Inthebottomsofimpenetrableblackthorn,eacheveningandmorningnow,outflickersawhistlingofbirds.Wheredoesitcomefrom,thesong?Aftersolongacruelty,howcantheymakeitupsoquickly?Butitbubblesthroughthem,theyarelikelittlewell-heads,littlefountain-headswhencethespringtricklesandbubblesforth.Itisnotoftheirowndoing.Intheirthroatsthenewlifedistilsitselfintosound.Itistherisingofthesilverysapofanewsummer,gurglingitselfforth.Allthetime,whilsttheearthlaychokedandkilledandwinter-mortified,thedeepunderspringswerequiet.Theyonlywaitfortheponderousencumbranceoftheoldordertogiveway,yieldinthethaw,andtheretheyare,asilverrealmatonce.Underthesurgeofruin,unmitigatedwinter,liesthesilverpotentialityofallblossom.Onedaytheblacktidemustspenditselfandfadeback.Thenall-suddenlyappearsthecrocus,hoveringtriumphantintheyear,andweknowtheorderhaschanged,thereisanewregime,soundofanew“Vive!Vive!”Itisnouseanymoretolookatthetornremnantsofbirdsthatlieexposed.Itisnolongeranyuserememberingthesullenthunderoffrostandtheintolerablepressureofcolduponus.Forwhetherwewillornot,theyaregone.Thechoiceisnotours.Wemanyremainwintryanddestructiveforalittlelonger,ifwewishit,butthewinterisgoneoutofus,andwilly-nillyourheartssingalittleatsunset.Evenwhilstwestareattheraggedhorrorofbirdsscatteredbroadcast,part-eaten,thesoft,unevencooingofthepigeonripplesfromtheouthouses,andthereisafaintsilverwhistlinginthebushescometwilight.Nomatter,westandandstareatthetornandunsightlyruinsoflife,wewatchtheweary,mutilatedcolumnsofwinterretreatingunderoureyes.Yetinourearsarethesilvervividbuglesofanewcreationadvancingonusfrombehind,weheartherollingofthesoftandhappydrumsofthedoves.Wemaynotchoosetheworld.Wehavehardlyanychoiceforours...
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