Explore "Rushes and Reeds" by Alice Meynell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Taller than the grass and lower than the trees, there is another growth that feels the implicit spring. It had been more abandoned to winter than even the short grass shuddering under a wave of east wind, more than the dumb trees. For the multitudes of sedges, rushes, canes, and reeds were the appropriate lyre of the cold. On them the nimble winds played their dry music. They were part of the winter. It looked through them and spoke through them. They were spears and javelins in array to the sound of the drums of the north.
The winter takes fuller possession of these things than of those that stand solid. The sedges whistle his tune. They let the colour of his light look through -- low-flying arrows and bright bayonets of winter day.