AUTUMN 71 
red. Sumac burns in the hedges, while huckleberry 
and other bushes crimson the ground. 
Mingling with the reds, or apart by themselves, 
are the clean yellows characteristic of this region. 
Tall tulip-trees stand in the hollows and along the ra- 
vines with crowns of gold. Hickories and beeches add 
their yellows and browns, and the chestnut oak, when 
other oaks are red, keeps up the pretense and turns 
golden-brown, the color of fading chestnut leaves. 
The whole world is at times immersed in a light 
that strangely enhances its beauty. Is it smoke that 
makes those intensely blue spaces under the trees? 
The forests have not yet begun to burn, only the 
people are burning brush here and there. The color 
seems to be in the air itself. The very tree-trunks 
often look blue, the delicate, mystical blue of the 
Blue Ridge Mountains. 
One wakens day after day to transports of color. 
Out of each window a new scene constantly unfolds. 
The sun shines in to you through a tent of red and 
yellow leaves that incloses the house, and the moun- 
tains seen through them take on intenser tones of 
rose-color and blue, of purple and peacock green. 
The mountain slopes far and near at this time seem 
hung with an arras from some enchanted loom. The 
splendid colors of the hardwood trees are interwoven 
with the sunny plumes of the pines, while here and 
there the twisted crown of an ancient pine tree is 
drawn in strong lines against the glowing back- 
ground, while golden sunlight sifts and quivers 
through it all. 
