THE FALLING LEAVES 



the blossom and the fruit of the tree come and go, 

 yet they age not; under the magic touch of spring 

 the miracle is repeated over and over. 



The maples perhaps undergo the most complete 

 transformation of all the forest trees. Their leaves 

 fairly become luminous, as if they glowed with 

 inward light. In October a maple-tree before 

 your window lights up your room like a great lamp. 

 Even on cloudy days its presence helps to dispel 

 the gloom. The elm, the oak, the beech, possess 

 in a much less degree that quality of luminosity, 

 though certain species of oak at times are rich in 

 shades of red and bronze. The leaves of the trees 

 just named for the most part turn brown before 

 they fall. The great leaves of the sycamore assume 

 a rich tan-color like fine leather. 



The spider weaves a net out of her own vitals 

 with which to capture her prey, but the net is not 

 a part of herself as the leaf is a part of the tree. 

 The spider repairs her damaged net, but the tree 

 never repairs its leaves. It may put forth new 

 leaves, but it never essays to patch up the old ones. 

 Every tree has such a superabundance of leaves 

 that a few more or less or a few torn and bruised 

 ones do not seem to matter. When the leaf 

 surface is seriously curtailed, as it often is by some 

 insect pest, or some form of leaf-blight, or by the 

 ravages of a hail-storm, the growth of the tree and 

 the maturing of its fruit is seriously checked. To 



