NOVEMBER 



In other woodlands where are many Oaks with 

 persistent leaves, perchance some Sumacs, a 

 distinct reddish tint flushes the purple. In a 

 varied wood, dark gray, steel gray, purple and 

 reddish tints coalesce into one mass of deep, 

 subdued color, always purple, ever darkening 

 into darkness. 



This is for dull, cloudy days, but when the sun 

 breaks out, or the slanting rays of sunset enter 

 the wood and seek out the inner shrines of the 

 temple, the half-gods go, for the true deities 

 have come to their own. 



A feature of these November days as the 

 month wears on is the silence that gathers in 

 field and wood. The birds have gone. The in- 

 sect life that was so shrill and insistent in mid- 

 summer has lessened, day by day, into a silence 

 rarely broken by the buzz of a bee, the lonely 

 chirp of a cricket, or the chatter of a blue jay. 

 To insect life the night of Brahma has already 

 come, and all its life has retired to the egg, to 

 be summoned forth only by the energy of the 

 sun. The same thing is true of annual plants: 



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