OCTOBER 



In the huckleberry pasture, by the fence of old 

 barn boards, I notice many little pale-brown, dome- 

 shaped puffballs puckered to a centre beneath. 

 When you pinch them, a smoke-like, brown, snuff- 

 colored dust rises from the orifice at their top, 

 just like smoke from a chimney. . . . They are low 

 Oriental domes or mosques, sometimes crowded 

 together in nests, like a collection of humble cot- 

 tages on the moor; for there is suggested some 

 humble hearth beneath, from which this smoke 

 comes up, as it were the homes of slugs and 



crickets. 



THOREAC: Autumn. 



8 



The nights now are very still, for there is hardly 

 any noise of birds or insects. The whip-poor-will 

 is not heard, nor the mosquito ; only the occasional 

 lisping of some sparrow. As I go through the 

 woods, I perceive a sweet dry scent from the un- 

 derwoods like that of the fragrant life-everlasting. 

 I suppose it is that. I frequently see a light on 

 the ground within thick and dark woods, where all 

 around is in shadow, and hasten forward expecting 

 to find some decayed and phosphorescent stump, 

 but find it to be some clear moonlight that falls 

 through a crevice in the leaves. 



THOBEAU: Autumn. 



