A brown spot a long distance
down the glade suddenly moves, and thereby shows itself to be a rabbit.
The bellowing sound that comes now and then is from the stags, which are
preparing to fight. The swine snort, and the mast and leaves rustle as
they thrust them aside. So little is changed: these are the same sounds
and the same movements, just as in the olden time.
The soft autumn sunshine, shorn of summer glare, lights up with colour
the fern, the fronds of which are yellow and brown, the leaves, the grey
grass, and hawthorn sprays already turned. It seems as if the early
morning's mists have the power of tinting leaf and fern, for so soon as
they commence the green hues begin to disappear. There are swathes of
fern yonder, cut down like grass or corn, the harvest of the forest. It
will be used for litter and for thatching sheds. The yellow stalks--the
stubble--will turn brown and wither through the winter, till the strong
spring shoot conies up and the anemones flower. Though the sunbeams reach
the ground here, half the green glade is in shadow, and for one step that
you walk in sunlight ten are in shade. Thus, partly concealed in full
day, the forest always contains a mystery.
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