NATURE NEAR LONDON 



reflects it ; the white is pushed aside by the colour 

 that the stained sunbeams bring. 



Pale yellow thatch on the wheatricks becomes 

 a deeper yellow ; broad roofs of old red tiles 

 smoulder under it. What can you call it but 

 tawniness ? the earth sunburnt once more at 

 harvest time. Sunburnt and brown for it deep- 

 ens into brown. Brown partridges, and pheasants, 

 at a distance brown, their long necks stretched in 

 front and long tails behind gleaming in the stubble. 

 Brown thrushes just venturing to sing again. Brown 

 clover hayricks; the bloom on the third crop 

 yonder, which was recently a bright colour, is fast 

 turning brown, too. 



Here and there a thin layer of brown leaves 

 rustles under foot. The scaling bark on the lower 

 part of the tree trunks is brown. Dry dock stems, 

 fallen branches, the very shadows, are not black, 

 but brown. With red hips and haws, red bryony 

 and woodbine berries, these together cause the 

 sense rather than the actual existence of a tawny 

 tint. It is pleasant j but sunset comes so soon, 

 and then after the trees are in shadow beneath, the 

 yellow spots at the tops of the elms still receive 

 the light from the west a few moments longer. 



There is something nutty in the short autumn 

 day shorter than its duration as measured by 

 hours, for the enjoyable day is between the clearing 

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