TREES

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 397, 4 July 1928, Page 6

TREES

Men will always write poems about trees, because most trees are poems in themselves. Anyone who does not believe in fairies should watch a fringe of weeping willows break into the misty soft green leafiness of spring. No mortal fingers could ever weave that incredible, cobwebby loveliness. Then there are pines, those dark sentinels of quiet strength; poplars, tall and still, lifting like clear green candles into the golden haze of afternoon; our own tremendous pohutukawas, gnarled and knotted with the winds and rains of centuries; the sturdy solidity of great oaks; the tossing fragility of young silver birches; and the fascination of Lombardy poplars, every leaf turning and flashing in the sun in a very passion of restlessness. Yes, men will always write poems about trees, for most trees are poems in themselves. U.C. THE SAND GROUSE There is a beautiful example of adaptation to surroundings in the sand-grouse, a true desert bird. It must have real water to drink, and so must its young; yet the nest is not made beside the waters of an oasis, or by the fluctuating lakes and pools. During nursery times the parent birds fly miles night and morning to water, drink, and then soak their underfeathers. Straightway they return to the nest, where the young grouse, taking the wet feathers in their beaks, drain them of water and so quench their thirst. A party of English schoolboys has returned home after travelling 20,000 miles through South Africa in 100 days.