AUTUMN 
“I love to wander through the woodlands hoary 
In the soft light of an autumnal day 
When Summer gathers up her robes of glory 
And like a dream of beauty glides away.” 
Sarah Helen Whitman. 
W HAT is more wonderful that a quiet stroll through 
some beautiful woods on a clear, warm Autumn 
morning. The air is redolent of the spicy breath of 
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pine trees and the scent of burning leaves. tdfiSm m 
The hills surrounding the woods are one mass of rich, 
waving color, of red, russet, gold and yellow, while here and there 
a vivid patch of green shows where the belligerent attacks of 
Jack Frost have as yet been unsuccessful. Clumps of purple 
asters border the roads, while the fields are yellow with 
golden rod. 
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Most of our Summer song birds have left for their Winter 
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homes, but the woods are still filled with stragglers and perma¬ 
nent residents. Robins fill the deep woods with their continual 
chirping, while cardinals, some of the warblers, and wrens, find 
food in trees and fields. Saucy chickadees, those jolly Winter 
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neighbors, scold from every branch, as though challenging the 
