This display of bird maneuvring continued for about half an hour. I viewed it from a doorway where I could command the whole scene, which was enchanting and something which I had never before seen.
I have not the presumption to suppose that it was a field-day review gotten up for my especial benefit; yet I enjoyed it quite as much as if it were.
It is possible that they were swallows out on a foraging expedition, for the day before a shower of small, green flies swept through the air, lighting here and there and everywhere within its radius. Perhaps the birds had discovered a school of these flies in the air and took sudden advantage of the aerial sporting grounds. Whatever may have been the occasion, I wonder if such bird parades are often seen.
The mere idea of another club may be unwelcome in these days of many clubs, yet I am so bold as to desire the existence of a new one; and I would urge all who can, to become members of it as soon as possible.
Unlike most clubs, it will have no officers, nor any rules and regulations; neither will there be initiation fees nor dues to pay.
The object of the club will be the study of art, as it is displayed in Nature's studio; and the only requisites for membership are a love of beauty and a few minutes' time each day. The club will be in session every day at sunset, and all members are urged to be present at any place where they can command a view of the western sky. They will thus be enabled to study the latest picture from the brush of that master artist, Nature.
No art gallery on earth can afford its visitors such a succession of masterpieces as will be open to the view of all members of this club. There is no artist so resourceful, none capable of giving such an endless variety of colors and effects as Nature.
To attempt to describe the beauties that are daily set before us would be vain; for who can adequately express in words the marvels of a sunset sky? No mere words, however carefully chosen and accurately used, can convey to the mind its unspeakable glories. These must reach us through our eyes, those "windows of the soul." Shall it be said of us that we "have eyes and see not"?
This evening the sun went down in a blaze of orange fire, deep and transparent, and a few minutes after the great ball had dropped below the horizon, the orange glow at the base melted into pale green above, then clear yellow and delicate pink, with infinite graduations of exquisite shading. Words fail, and leave me helpless before such a masterpiece I can only hope that many other people were enjoying it with me, as its beauties stirred my inmost soul.