he sheaves--it seemed to be flax, for here and there a flag of loose
heads showed at the top. The snow had been blown up from all directions,
so it looked, by the counter-currents that set up in the lee of every
obstacle. These mounds presented one and all the appearance of cones
or pyramids of butter patted into shape by upward strokes made with a
spoon. There were the sharp ridges, irregular and erratic, and there
were the hollows running up their flanks--exactly as such a cone of
butter will show them. And the whole field was dotted with them, as if
there were so many fresh graves.

I made the twelve-mile bridge--passing through the cottonwood
gate--reached the "hovel," and dropped into the wilderness again. Here
the bigger trees stood strangely bare. Winter reveals the bark and the
"habit" of trees. All ornaments and unessentials have been dropped. The
naked skeletons show I remember how I was more than ever struck by that
dappled appearance of the bark of the balm: an olive-green, yellowish
hue, ridged and spotted with the black of ancient, overgrown leaf-scars;
there was actually something gay about it; these poplars are certainly
beautiful winter trees. The aspens were different. Although their stems
stood white on white in the snow, that greenish tinge in their white
gave them a curious look. From the picture that I carry about in my
memory of this morning I cannot help the impression that they looked as
if their white were not natural at all; they looked white-washed! I have
often since confirmed this impression when there was snow on the ground.

In the copses of saplings the zigzagging of the boles from twig to twig
showed very distinctly, more so, I believe, than to me it had ever done
before. How slender and straight they look in their summer garb--now
they were stripped, and bone and sinew appeared.

We came to the "half way farms," and the marsh lay ahead. I watered the
horses, and I do not know what made me rest them for a little while,
but I did. On the yard of the farm where I had turned in there was not
a soul to be seen. Barns and stables were closed--and I noticed that
the back door of the dwelling was buried tight by the snow. No doubt
everybody preferred the neighbourhood of the fire to the cold outside.
While stopping, I faced for the first time the sun. He was high in the
sky by now--it was half-past ten--and it suddenly came home to me that
there was something relentless, inexorable, cruel, ye