192 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



the bluejay has announced it and summer is over. 



As the rain brings down early twilight it 

 brings not only dreams of faint odors of far 

 Cathay, it brings also clinging in the gray gar- 

 ments of the east wind films of its mystery and 

 romance. As the prince in his brief outlook 

 through the window of paradise saw on the panes 

 moving pictures of life which Time had set there, 

 so through the dusk of the fields and into the 

 tangle of the forest it is easy to see this wind 

 from far Cathay moving pictures of Oriental 

 magic and mystery. Gray djinns stalk across the 

 open spaces in the gathering dusk and what ma- 

 gician from Samarcand or what prince or prin- 

 cess of India may float to earth on these billow- 

 ing praying-carpets of rain gusts it is impossible 

 to tell. In the open fields and on the forest edges 

 the effect of ghostly mystery is enhanced by the 

 strange personality which all things take on. 

 The most familiar path becomes new to us and 

 each shrub and stump stands forth, pressing upon 

 our attention, a newly arrived being out of the 

 realms of space. 



Monday afternoon when there was just the 

 promise of rain, in the air the pine woods were so 

 friendly a place that all the birds flocked in and 



