The cries of the marsh birds are heard, and muskrats are swimming at the apexes of the long V-shaped wakes out on the open water. On small boggy spots are piles of empty freshwater clam shells where these interesting little animals have feasted. As the crows seem to dominate the sand hills, the muskrats contribute much picturesque quality to the marsh. Their little houses add interest to the wet places, and traces of them appear all over the low land.
“THE RIVER NOW COMES TO THE BEGINNING
OF THE VAST MARSH”
A wild duck hurries her downy young into the thick grasses—a few turtles tumble hastily from the bogs into the water—a large blue heron rises slowly out of an unseen retreat, and trails his long legs after him in rhythmic flight down the marsh—mysterious wings are heard among the rushes—immense flocks of blackbirds fill the air—there is a splash out among the lily pads, where a hungry fish has captured his unsuspecting prey, and the deep sonorous bass of a philosophic bullfrog resounds from concealed recesses.
Another bend in the channel reveals a flock of wild ducks feeding quietly along the edges of the weeds. The intrusion is quickly detected and they swiftly take wing. A sinister head, with beady eyes, appears on the surface behind the boat, and is instantly withdrawn. A big snapping-turtle has come up to investigate the cause of the dark shadow which has passed along the bottom.
Some open wet ground comes into view around the next curve, and some lazy cattle look up inquiringly. After their curiosity is satisfied, they turn their heads away and resume their reflections.
The Winding River has its solemn hours as well as those of gladness. Heavy masses of low gray clouds are creeping into the sky, the shadows are disappearing and a moody monotone has come over the landscape. Deep mutterings of thunder, and a few vivid flashes, herald the approach of a storm.
Some thick willows, which can be reached through openings among the lily pads, a short distance from the main channel, offer a convenient shelter, and from it the coming drama can be contemplated.
The big drops are soon heard among the leaves, the distant trees loom in ghostly stillness through veils of moving mist, the delicate color tones gently change into a lower scale, and the voices of the falling waters come. The reeds and rushes bend humbly, and there are subdued cries from the feathered life that is hurrying to shelter among them. The rain patters and murmurs out among the thick grasses and on the open river.
There are noble beauties and sublimities in the storm, which those who only love the sunshine can never know. Truly “Our Lady of the Rain” weaves a marvelous spell, and her song is of surpassing beauty, as she trails her robes in majesty over the river and through the marshy wastes. Her pictures blend with her measures, for a song may have other mediums than sound, and there are many symphonies that are silent. The prelude in the lowering clouds, and the melody of the loosened waters, bring to us a sense of unity and closer communion with the powers in the skies above us.