THE CHANGING SEASONS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 19460, 16 October 1926, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE CHANGING SEASONS.

GLIMPSED FROM A SICK-BED

BY RUTH SANDERSON.

Can there be other worlds as fair as this of ours ? Surely none fairer! From ray corner in a hospital I have watched Nature in all her varying moods. Bright, sparkling and vivacious; gloomy, grey and sombre, yet in each and every mood there is some beauty to be found. To-day she is at her best. The sunlight is dancing in and out among tho branches of tho trees. The leaves are rustling slightly in the gentlest of breezes. The soft, velvety lawns, so restful to tired eyes, are all of a vivid green, and overhead an azure sky is flecked with soft, billowy clouds of white. Over to the left, the lake, with a background of hazy purple hills, and fringed with golden wattles, is sparkling and shimmering in the sunlight, two white swans floating on its unruffled surface. A locust, prophesying of heat to come, a bumble bee humming lazily, and the occasional twitter of birds, mingled with the voices of tho convalescent children on the lawn, are the only sounds that disturb the stillness I derive endless pleasure and amusement from watching these children. One dear wee chap in a spinal chair, being wheeled about by the others, is the centre of attraction at present. Looking from my window, I spy four small boys pushing this carriage up a grassy incline. Reaching the top, they disport themselves in various positions on it, one sitting on the foot, one balancing on either side, and the fourth, after giving tho chair an encouraging push, swinging on the handle. With a loud whoop they are off down the slope, the chair gathering speed as it goes, until finally it is brought to an abrupt stop by the wire fence at the bottom. Each time I expect to sec them all upset on the lawn, but they arrive intact, push up the slope, and off they go again, laughing and shouting joyously the while. Surely a special Providence is guarding those wee mites. All kinds of queer and exciting games they invent, never seeming to tire nor to come to any harm. Shine and Shade. It is nearly twelve months since I came to this lovely, airy ward in hospital. Summer was at its height, the lawns beginning to look parched and brown. The trees had changed their dresses of delicate green to ones of deeper hue; the sweet peas and roses were past their prime, getting ready to retire and make room for tho later flowering blooms. 1 watched the days gradually shorten, the oaks and chestnuts change once more to pala yellow, then to a deeper shade, until at last they are clothed in autumnal russet, gold and brown. All too soon they lose their glorious leaves, cold winds gradually carry them off until at last they are left gaunt and bare, with nary a leaf. All except the evergreens: the pines, firs and hollies still flaunt their dark green dresses, heedless of the wind and cold alike.

Now the ward is decorated with great bowls of chrysanthemums, yellow, bronze and gold. We have frosty mornings, followed by beautiful, sunshiny days. Cold, blustery days, too, when the wind whistles through the ward and creeps down between the sheets no matter how tightly one is tucked in; days of pouring rain, when one is almost glad to be in bed. This is the season of suhsets; above and reflected in the Jake is the opalescent splendour of the sky, blue and silver, pink and gold, delicate tints of almost every hue, which vary every few minutes. All too soon this glory departs and quickly the night descends. These cold days bring crowds of impudent little sparrows to the ward. Thev arrive promptly with each meal, percn on the chairs and beds or on the floor, and patiently wait to be fed. They are very tame, "but despite all coaxing will not yet feed from my hand. Wlien I throw a piece of bread I love to watch them scrambling and fighting over_ it, chirping angrily between times. Flowers—Always Flowers.

Soon the shortest day is passed, and . very gradually old Sol lengthens his daily visits. Always we seem to have flowers. Just now lovely violets with their exquisite scent; soon snowdrops, daffodils and anemones will appear. My little feathered friends commence to build again. I watch very intently to catch them at work in the trees, but my only reward is a fleeting glimpse, occasionally, of a bird flying past with some small contribution to the home—a wisp of straw, a piece of cotton-wool, or other substance in its beak. Where they build I do not know, for I can never see them; perhaps I am too far away. Spring is almost here. Each morning I look out for the first sign of green on the bare willows, and soon my patience is rewarded. Just a faint tracery, barely visible from the ward at first, but how quickly it spreads. Soon willows, oaks, poplars and chestnuts are a mass of delicate, quivering green; so fresh and green they look, as though just awakened from a refreshing sleep, followed by a bath of dew. I am myself awakened very early each morning by the thrushes and larks—they pour forth their song with such vigour, filled with the joy of living. Again each evening I lo ,r e to lie and listen to their good-night hymns of praise, rendered in gratitude to their Maker. The days become, hotter, and the shady, green trees look so inviting; soon perhaps I shall be able to go and sit under their sheltering branches. The Beckoning Spring. It is time now for the baby sparrows to put in an appearance. For some time past the mother birds have been carrying off morsels in their beaks, and I know that as soon as they have taught the little ones to fly far enough they will bring them along, quite confident that I will provide a meal. And so it happens. One morning there is considerably more commotion than usual, and I look across to sec a dent - wee fluffy tiling flapping it' wings and chirping noisily and impatiently' with hunger. The mother has brought it along, .and when I throw crumbs, proceeds with all possible speed to fill thai gaping motith, returning again and again for more. lam kept busy at meal times now; every day the mother birds bring their wee ones to be fed until such time as they consider them big enough to fend for themselves. I owe these little feathered friends a deal of gratitude; have they not helped to shorten many an otherwise weary hour ? I shall miss them when they depart. The days lengthen ; the roses come again with all their fresh beauty and perfume; soon we will have Christmas here. But surely I have nearly come to the end of my time in hospital. Soon I shall be able to mingle with the busy ones of the world once more, to take my place among the bread-winners, well able to do my share of work, whatever it may be, and surely—after all the kindness I have received—with a wider and more kindly sympathy for the. less fortunate ones I meet.