AUTUMN 



danced with the glistening leaves, and lowering 

 storm-clouds draw a shroud over the earth. 



Yet in the midst of death in autumn we are im- 

 pressed with the abundance of life. For autumn 

 is the time of seed-scattering. The cotton-grass has 

 unfurled its white sails on the moor ; clouds of 

 thistledown and ragwort nutlets with equally dainty 

 parachutes are swept over the waste ; the hooked 

 fruits of burdock, cleavers, hound's -tongue, and 

 how many more, cling to our clothes and to the 

 sheep's fleece ; all sorts of pods and capsules have 

 opened, and gusts of wind how much more the 

 equinoctial gales have scattered and in many cases 

 sown the seeds. The prodigality is as unmeasurable 

 as it is providential. And so, on this fine autumn 

 day, the harvest carts pass heavily laden with 

 sheaves, strong coveys of partridges darken the 

 stubble, the links are crowded with rabbits, the air 

 is full of whirling seeds, the fallow ground is vibrat- 

 ing with the gossamer threads of small spiders that 

 have sunk to earth and gone into hiding, the apples 

 fall in showers in the orchard, and we wonder, as 

 men have wondered for thousands of years, at the 

 Abundance of Life. 



The Falling Leaves 



Nothing is more characteristic of autumn than 

 the rustle of falling leaves. Beneficent in their life, 

 for all the plant's wealth is due to them, they are 

 beautiful in their dying. Before they die they 

 surrender to the plant all that they have still left 

 that is worth having. They are like empty houses 



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