. The book of months . ^ THE BOOK OF MONTHS berries glow red in the dark green of the scraps we burned on the hearth, and thegreen leaves are still crackling and popping,and the room is aromatic with the smell ofthem—the smell, so it always seemed to me, ofChristmas. Outside the same wonderful, wind-less frost still binds the earth, and in the drynessof the air the stars are visible nearly down to thehorizon, and the sheets of snow sparkle dimly inthe soft twilight of them. Yet I still lingerhere, finishing the few words that remain to bewritten of this little book of months which tell
. The book of months . ^ THE BOOK OF MONTHS berries glow red in the dark green of the scraps we burned on the hearth, and thegreen leaves are still crackling and popping,and the room is aromatic with the smell ofthem—the smell, so it always seemed to me, ofChristmas. Outside the same wonderful, wind-less frost still binds the earth, and in the drynessof the air the stars are visible nearly down to thehorizon, and the sheets of snow sparkle dimly inthe soft twilight of them. Yet I still lingerhere, finishing the few words that remain to bewritten of this little book of months which tells ^sJ^JjSsjiof happenings so tremendous and momentous to me, so infinitesimal to the world at large. It is W^a very inconsecutive performance, I know, veryoften dealing with interests so minute that evenas I write them—the time when what one writesassumes its greatest importance to ones self—Iknew I was risking boredom for somebody. Butthe remedy for such boredom is so simple: onehas only to shut the M^M.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidcu3192401358, bookyear1903
