The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-08-23
THE HUSH OF AUGUST.


The silence of August is not absolute, yet
the muteness of its bird-choir affects one
sadly While this loss is only comparative,
il is too keenly marked to pass unnoted.
1t is the reverie of summer. murmurous
meditation into which she has fallen. Her
youthful hours are dying. days are drifting
away from her. and her voice is stiled in
dreamy Renaissance. That the tresses of
summer should ever whiten. Yet on the
shoulders of the gentle breeze silvery locks
are iuttering to and fro, and when they
have manted the golden crown We shall
have to admit sorrowfully that summer
has aged. She is a thoughtful beauty now,
rather than her. former merry. sparkling
self
So it is that her song comes family. A
spell of half-silence is imposed by the
goldenrod which foods the hillside as with
the glory of sudden sunshine, yet to the
careful ear her last words with a
softened sweetness that is alluring. The
birds are i'm harmony with this pensive
mood, and rarely disturb its quietude.
The rudy robin is conspicuous in his ST.
lence. That MONDAY songster of July the
cardinal. is sadly missed, is also his
rival. the persistent red-eyed vireo. Not
a note from the saucy white-eye-aDd
where is the brown thrush who Wanted the
charms of spring proudly? The inces-
SAINT summer tanager has ceased his reit-
Grafton. and mutely draws sweets from
peach and grape in turn. Neither dear
summer yellow bird, blithe indigo, nor wag-
gish chat proclaim their whereabouts as
was their constant wont. Nor does the
lonely whippoorwill think we'll to sound his
thrilling call mid the nocturnal din of
cricket and katydld. Only the mournful
little screech owl mingles his well-worn
plant with theirs The ever-present, queru-
lous catbird had almost completed the list
of lost voices when from the apple tree
came a dim reflection of his summer song,
uttered family under his breath as if but
to reassure himself of IFS possession.
There is no joyous August, chorus of
bird song and any songster who Graves au-
dience may then be heard to advantage. ST.
lences are heightened out and melodies are
shortened. Every song is solo. A spirit of
peaceful fruition pervades the fields, where
silver-tongued meadow larks have be-
slowed so many benedictions. The Caro-
his opportunity. The deep-seated cheer of
his nature is unrepressed, and not Il day
passes that he does not riot i'm jubilant
song for brief interval Dowpy wood
pecker has returned from somewhere as his
half dozen shril notes announce daily. The
song sparrow by the river, Maryland yell
lowthroat at the suburban station, and the
goldhnch looping across the sky-always
Ell route-lilt their familiar bits of melody
occasionally. The gay Baltimore oriole. who
was so strangely still in July, now filings
his breezy whistle hourly from the very
leaf where the verdure brims over into the
sky. Jays scream quite unmindfu of sum-
mer's signing, but twice L have heard the
rhythmcal rocking of their timber song.
Once only, in day. did the Berwick wren
sing his lovely minor song. The melan-
choly couplet of the pewee is i'm entire har-
mony with the spirit of the season, and may
be heard frequently i'm the old dead tree
where both flicker and redhead sound
their hooking calls at long intervals. a
single distant Bob White reminds me
that days are coming when he will be in
sad demand and will have 10 sing smaller
than now.
the very hour of noon, 10 mount the hill
top and sing Justify, If in gratitude fol-
the stirring breeze. while il is i'm the early
morning that one cav from the crow and
a solitary hoarse cry from the great-crest-
ed fiycatchcr breaks the silence. Bluebird
too. records but one blurred. PARKWAY muI-
muir. sweet and plsintiye, as always. Pur-
pie martins are ever seen Swimming thc
azure. but seldom heard. and then i'm J
fragmentary way. But the silence of chick
adee. that winter darling, is like the north
pole--it will never b. exactly located. Into
the willow comes he, and with him. hi
larity: and afterwards, swinging upside be.
meath leaf. he sings the tender censor
song as If half in fun. Titmouse that 10.
quacious cousin OF his. Is a kindred spirit
aud mi lgles his badinage and his freshly
inspired whistles of unutterable sweetness
on our very porch.
In other words. the minor trill of the Geld
sparrow has endeared him hour after hour
through hot August moons, but thrice in
one day only has he broken his VOW oi
silence this season, and then IL was not hi:
August lay. And il is long-not since July
1i-sihce the honeyed accents of the wal.
bling vireo invited attention. Now thi.
modest treetop sinser-who is like an EN-.
.shed trilling strain that some tiny brook
once warbled betwixt two pebbles, and his
own fieeting impulse TO melody is satisfied
whereas in June he rolled il endlessly under
his caressing little tongue. from hour {,