IN THE BIG WOODS
A Grand, Glorious, Restful Recreation
This afternoon I am sitting on a glacial rock in the forest at the foot of Mount Shasta. A beautiful spot to rest and a glorious book of nature to read.
A canopy of deepest blue sky above, with sunshine unstopped by clouds. The rays of old Sol pulsate themselves into an endless variety of flowers, plants and vegetable life which Mother Earth has given birth to in evidence of her gladness and love of the beautiful.
Glorious trees of magnificent size reach up into the blue and give us shade. Ozone sweeps gently through the forest impregnated with the perfume of fir, balsam, cedar, pine and flowers.
In this spot, nature has thrown up mountains of volcanic rock, which hold the winter's snow in everlasting supply to quench the thirst of plant, of animal and millions of humans in the lower country.
The whole hillside around me is a community of springs of crystal water laden with iron, and precious salts. It is the breast of Mother Earth which nurses her offspring.
Here are no noises of the street; the newsboy's cry of "extra" is not heard. The peddler, the din of trucks, the honk of automobiles, the clatter of the city—all these are absent.
There is no noise here; just the sweet music of falling water, and the aeolian lullaby made by the breeze playing on the pine needles.