It is so delightful to know that something is happy.
The hawthorn hedge that goes down the slope is more coloured than the
hedges in the sheltered plain. Yonder, a low bush on the brow is a deep
crimson; the hedge as it descends varies from brown to yellow, dotted
with red haws, and by the gateway has another spot of crimson. The lime
trees turn yellow from top to bottom, all the leaves together; the elms
by one or two branches at a time. A lime tree thus entirely coloured
stands side by side with an elm, their boughs intermingling; the elm is
green except a line at the outer extremity of its branches. A red light
as of fire plays in the beeches, so deep is their orange tint in which
the sunlight is caught. An oak is dotted with buff, while yet the main
body of the foliage is untouched. With these tints and sunlight, nature
gives us so much more than the tree gives. A tree is nothing but a tree
in itself: but with light and shadow, green leaves moving, a bird
singing, another moving to and fro--in autumn with colour--the boughs are
filled with imagination. There then seems so much more than the mere
tree; the timber of the trunk, the mere sticks of the branches, the
wooden framework is animated with a life.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294