The city is interesting； but the tactual silence of the country is
always most wele after the din of town and the irritating concussions
of the train。 How noiseless and undisturbing are the demolition； the
repairs and the alterations； of nature！ With no sound of hammer or saw
or stone severed from stone； but a music of rustles and ripe thumps on
the grass e the fluttering leaves and mellow fruits which the wind
tumbles all day from the branches。 Silently all droops； all withers； all
is poured back into the earth that it may recreate； all sleeps while the
busy architects of day and night ply their silent work elsewhere。 The
same serenity reigns when all at once the soil yields up a newly wrought
creation。 Softly the ocean of grass； moss； and flowers rolls surge upon
surge across the earth。 Curtains of foliage drape the bare branches。
Great trees make ready in their sturdy hearts to receive again birds
which occupy their spacious chambers to the south and west。 Nay； there
is no place so lowly that it may not lodge some happy creature。 The
meadow brook undoes its icy fetters with rippling notes； gurgles； and
runs free。 And all this is wrought in less than two months to the music
of nature's orchestra； in the midst of balmy incense。
The thousand soft voices of the earth have truly found their way to
me……the small rustle in tufts of grass； the silky swish of leaves； the
buzz of insects； the hum of bees in blossoms I have plucked； the flutter
of a bird's wings after his bath； and the slender rippling vibration
of water running over pebbles。 Once having been felt； these loved voices
rustle； buzz； hum； flutter； and ripp