OCTOBER 



Now too, the first of October, or later, the elms 

 are at the height of their autumnal beauty, 

 great brownish yellow masses, warm from their 

 September oven, hanging over the highway. Their 

 leaves are perfectly ripe. I wonder if there is any 

 answering ripeness in the lives of the men who live 

 beneath them. As I look down our street, which 

 is lined with them, they remind me both by their 

 form and color of yellowing sheaves of grain, as if 

 the harvest had indeed come to the village itself, 

 and we might expect to find some maturity and 

 flavor in the thoughts of the villagers at last. 



THOREAU: Autumnal Tints. 



The intense brilliancy of the red-ripe maples 

 scattered here and there in the midst of the green 

 oaks and hickories on the hilly shore of Walden 

 is quite charming. They are unexpectedly and 

 incredibly brilliant, especially on the western shore 

 and close to the water's edge, where, alternating 

 with yellow birches and poplars and green oaks, 

 they remind me of a line of soldiers, redcoats and 

 riflemen in green mixed together. 



THOREAU: Autumn. 



