194 



WEATHER PROPHETS 



The odour of burning leaves is in the air. There is a 

 natural freshness about it that prompts the expansion 

 of the lungs. It seems an assurance of a wave of real 

 air in the midst of the sulphurous fumes of a thousand 

 chimneys and the penetrating dust of the abraded 

 streets. The smoke of the leaves seems but a 

 strengthening of the natural leafy smell that fills the 

 naked woods, where the scattered foliage is returning 

 again to the earth to enrich it for a new season's 

 growth. There is no more satisfying forest odour 

 than the exhalations from the fallen leaves, when 

 they spread the moist, misty warmth of Indian 

 summer among the rugged trunks and naked 

 shrubbery. They seem to give forth again the breath 

 of life that made the spring an invitation. The season 

 is so complete that the active preparations of the 

 Muskrats in the marsh become almost annoying 

 in their persistent suggestions of coming change. 

 Smoke arises from the marsh and hangs in the 

 still atmosphere, showing that the natural processes 

 of decay are helped by juvenile destructiveness. 

 Primitive man worshipped fire, and the spell has 

 never been thrown off through centuries of dvilisa- 



