Dawn.
The woods are silent, save for bird pipings.
In the background, verdure of young pines and ancient boles of oaks form the dim-pillared entrance to a forest shrine.
Artfully placed on tree trunk and bough are nest boxes of bark.
On one side stands a low weathercock food-house; on the other, a tall martin-house pole.
In the shade of a great oak glimmers the shallow pool of a bird bath.
Peeping at this from behind the oak, appears, vanishes and appears again the horned head of Quercus, a faun.
Stealing forth, Quercus approaches the pool, bearing in one hand an enormous pitcher plant.
Peering upward among the boughs, he raises his voice in quaint falsetto, and sings.
QUERCUS