INDIAN SUMMER 



OSSAMER and old gold ; brown leaves, 

 V-T bleached grasses, and gray twigs ; green 

 pines, that now look black in the distance, 

 and frost-defying mosses ; such are the salient 

 features of this bright November day. I am 

 in a new country and at every step am met 

 by strangers, but I know their cousins that 

 are dwellers with-me on the home hill-side. 

 To feel that I am a stranger robs the world 

 of half its beauty. I cannot rid myself of 

 the repressing thought ; but, if a stranger to- 

 day, I am fortunately alone, and that com- 

 pensates for much ; alone to-day in a wild- 

 wood road, and it is now Indian summer. 



It is a long, narrow roadway, with a deep 

 ditch on each side and no special side path 

 for the pedestrian. It is assumed by the 

 travelling community that two vehicles never 

 meet, and the man on foot who meets a 

 wagon must jump into the thicket that hems 

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