The Detroit times. [volume] (Detroit, Mich.) 1903-1920, 1915-05-22
News of the Week
BY Or. FRANK CRANE
Copyright. 1915. by Frank Crane)

Great things have been happening
during the past week.
The dandelions have been out. Down
the road toward Ed Smiths place, on
each side of the highway, set thick
among the deep green of the grass, myr-
lads of them are abloom; il is as if the
gray ribbon of road were broidered with
living gold
Gold is sprinkled all through the pas
lures There is no flower so decorative,
so modestly yet exquisitely beautiful as
the dandelion.
One of the most delightful things
about il is its gospel. which is the Won
derfulneSs of the commonplace. All the
wealth, all the art Of man could produce
nothing that SO drenches the spirit with
pure JOY of life as Nature does in her
wild exuberance of dandelious.
Go out and see these happy little flow
er-people, clean your stuffed bosom of
its artificial cares, and love them, and
they will do you good. Fools run after
the uncommon: wise men turn for re-
freshment TO the common.
/ wish to report also that I have
found the most sweet and adorable hour
of the day. II is the one just before
daybreak when the baby dawn is Just
beginning 10 awaken. II is the solo hour
of Natures daily twenty-four reel pic
ture play. All day the full orchestra
of birds has been cawing. whistling, pip
ing. and fluting away; at sunset and
thick night.
for music came the play
OF the pied frogs orchestra,
And 10 light the noisy choir
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
there have been the full crash of noon
shine the splendor and color riot Of sun
set, the soft threnody Of twilight. and
then the majeStical panorama of the
stars swimming in the immense upper
ocean Of the dark sky.
! But at this solo hour of which speak
/ there is. for setting the glory Of faith
omess stiffness. No breeze is a-wander-
| ing. The trees are asleep. The mirror
breast Of the lake is unwrinkled. II is as
smooth as the just paling heavens
above it.
One bird, stranger TO me- is twitter-
! ing-Some uneasy industrious bird that
would prevent the dawn and get about
! its days work.
One bright star CLEANS like a blue
! jewel in the east. the forerunner of the
sun. The other stars are out; this high
/ lamp is still unextinguished
One feathery cloud hangs over the door
where the sun shall enter.
! Nature is in her simplest, her most
unconfused, her least complex mood.
The young day is lisping.
The soul that is early about, and moves
among the vast simplcities, feels as IL
! il were present at the worlds creation.
In Rome. by the Tiber, is a small tenn
pie, round and pilared said TO have been
erected to the goddess of the Dawn,
Mater Matuta.
II you have no belief in her, come out
at this solo hour, and walk along the road
gold-sprent with dandelions, listen to that
one bird singing, look at that one star,
that lone cloud, receive with unbarred
! heart the message Of the vast stiffness
around you, and or ever you are aware
you will see, not face TO face, but out
Of the tail of your eye. as all divinities
can alone be glimpsed, Mater Matuta her
| self, the silent, sweet virgin mother of
/ the universe, the shyest and gentlest
among all the denzens Of Olympus.