EARLY NOVEMBER DAYS 



in strength from the sun which now blazes in ever- 

 conquering triumph out of the blue ; a myriad of 

 bronze-domed oaks still tightly hold their withered 

 leaves, and hills, all bracken-patched, are bathed in 

 glory. 



The calm and silence of such days is intensified 

 by the muteness of bird and insect life and, but for 

 the noisy cock pheasant and occasional scolding jay, 

 the woods are silent ; their now almost leafless 

 brushwood, provided with its winter resting-buds, 

 fears neither wind-storm nor blizzard. In blazing 

 attractiveness it advertises its stores of red-berried 

 bird-food, where the untrimmed hawthorns lift their 

 crimson blood, and scarlet hips beckon, while like 

 patches of fire are the brittle stems of the spindle 

 tree, with their quaintly shaped coral pink fruit dis- 

 closing its heart of gold. These are days when the sun 

 reveals colours hidden before, days whose very short- 

 ness and rarity seem to make them more beautiful 

 and precious, giving, as it were, a stolen sweetness 

 from the stormy darkness of the coming winter. 



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