194 With Feet to the Earth 



this cap of vapor you think of the icing of 

 a cake, but sometimes at a distance the 

 lighting of the mass turns it into an aureole, 

 the peak lying strong, couchant, compla- 

 cent, through this coronation. This phe- 

 nomenon is most usual on rainy mornings, 

 when the cloud cloaks cling to the cold, 

 wet peak and are outlined on the indigo 

 dark. 



There is a unity of color in every season 

 that proves the artists to be right in their 

 theory of tone. In the country in winter 

 the earth is white and gray, in spring silver 

 and green, in summer green and blue, in 

 autumn brown. In autumn we lament the 

 fall of the leaf, but the universal fading has 

 a beauty of its own. It is not ghastly or 

 abhorrent, there is not even an odor of 

 decay, for October smells are rich and 

 spicy, and the flashes of red among the 

 maples, the violet glow on the distant 

 mountains, the purity of the sky, are the 

 sweeter for the russet in the weeds and 

 ferns. Leaves are wavering down to the 

 frost-singed turf, bird songs grow infre- 

 quent, stars of gold spread over the dank 



