THE leaves are falling in greater profusion, but the fall has reached its climax, for the cold wind and mist and rain has whispered to them of Winter. Every lane that we found so cool in Summer with the overshading foliage when the Summer land was filled with shimmering haze, has changed its many mingled perfumes that came from the hedgerow blossoms and bank-set herb, for that of decaying leaves. No more are our favourite ways lit with the clear leaf-light, but are filled with the smoke from woodland fires. It is interesting to watch the fall of the leaves as they drop from the different trees, each in their own peculiar way, each dyed in their individual colour. The leaf of the ash falls down heavily, almost unchanged in hue; yet how quickly to turn black when fallen. The birch, elm, and beech, and almost all the other trees, give back to Nature their leaves in vivid tints,
flying in the air, wafted far in their fall.
From a Middlesex Garden: A Book of Garden Thoughts
By Alfred H. Hyatt
![]()
flying in the air, wafted far in their fall.
From a Middlesex Garden: A Book of Garden Thoughts
By Alfred H. Hyatt
