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“The Scarlet Ibis” by James Hurst It was in the clove of seasons, summer was dead but autumn had not yet been born, that the ibis lit in the bleeding tree. The flower garden was stained with rotting brown magnolia petals, and ironweeds grew rank amid the purple phlox. The five o’clocks by the chimney still
The Scarlet Ibis by James Hurst Summer was dead, but autumn had not yet been born when the ibis came to the bleeding tree. It's strange that all this is so clear to me, now that time has had its way. But sometimes (like right now) I sit in the cool green parlor, and I remember Doodle. Doodle was about the craziest brother a boy ever had.
Daddy replied, “It’s a scarlet ibis. A storm must have brought it here.” A scarlet ibis! How many miles it had traveled to die like this, in our yard, beneath the bleeding tree. Later that day, Doodle and I hurried off to Horsehead Landing and got into a skiff and floated down the creek with the tide. After we had drifted a long way, I
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Summer was dead, but autumn had not yet been born when the ibis came to the bleeding tree. It's strange that all this is so clear to me, now that time has had its way. But sometimes (like right now) I sit in the cool green parlor, and I remember Doodle.
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