The corn, stack'd in its
cone-shaped stacks, russet-color'd and sere--a large field spotted
thick with scarlet-gold pumpkins--an adjoining one of cabbages,
showing well in their green and pearl, mottled by much light
and shade--melon patches, with their bulging ovals, and great
silver-streak'd, ruffled, broad-edged leaves--and many an autumn sight
and sound beside--the distant scream of a flock of guinea-hens--and
pour'd over all the September breeze, with pensive cadence through the
tree tops.
_Another Day_.--The ground in all directions strew'd with _debris_
from a storm. Timber creek, as I slowly pace its banks, has ebb'd low,
and shows reaction from the turbulent swell of the late equinoctial.
As I look around, I take account of stock--weeds and shrubs, knolls,
paths, occasional stumps, some with smooth'd tops, (several I use as
seats of rest, from place to place, and from one I am now jotting
these lines,)--frequent wild-flowers, little white, star-shaped
things, or the cardinal red of the lobelia, or the cherry-ball seeds
of the perennial rose, or the many-threaded vines winding up and
around trunks of trees.
_Oct. 1, 2 and 3_.--Down every day in the solitude of the creek. A
serene autumn sun and westerly breeze to-day (3d) as I sit here, the
water surface prettily moving in wind-ripples before me. On a stout
old beech at the edge, decayed and slanting, almost fallen to the
stream, yet with life and leaves in its mossy limbs, a gray squirrel,
exploring, runs up and down, flirts his tail, leaps to the ground,
sits on his haunches upright as he sees me, (a Darwinian hint?) and
then races up the tree again.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161