"THE SUN!" said the Forest. "In the night I am still and voiceless. A
weight of silence lies upon my heart. If you pass through me, the sound
of your own footstep echoes fearfully, like the footfall of a ghost. If
you speak to break the spell, the silence closes in on your words, like
the ocean on a pebble you throw into it. The wind sighs far-off among
the branches, as if he were hushing his breath to listen. If a little
bird chirps uneasily in its nest, it is silenced before you can find
out whence the sound came.
"But the dawn breaks. Before a gray streak can be seen, my trees feel
it, and quiver through every old trunk and tiny twig with joy; my
birds feel it, and stir dreamily in their nests, as if they were just
murmuring to each other, 'How comfortable we are!'
"Then the wind awakes, and tunes my trees for the concert, striking
his hand across one and another, until all their varied harmonies are
astir; the soft, liquid rustlings of my oaks and beeches make the rich
treble to the deep, plaintive tones of my pines. Then my early birds
awake one by one, and answer each other in sweet responses, until the
Sun rises, and the whole joyous chorus bursts into song to the organ
and flute accompaniments of my evergreens and summer leaves. And in
the pauses, countless happy insects chirp, and buzz, and whirl with
contented murmuring among my ferns and flower-bells. The SUN makes me
musical," said the Forest.