Country life -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
As they went on down the lane the blackbirds every now and then sprang
from the bushes with a loud cry; the song-thrushes, less wild, sat on
the spray till they came close. Stray blue butterflies wandered
wonderingly in and out, with a dainty tripping flight--wonderingly,
because they had but lately entered to the summer world, and found so
much to see they could not stay long in one place. Bryony leaves,
shaped like the shields of ancient Norman knights, trailed a pale buff
scarf across the bushes. Bryony berries, some red and some a metallic
shining green, clustered in grape-like bunches. Blackberries ripening;
haws reddening on the thorn; yellow fronds of brake fern on the tall
stems rising beside the brambles. No sound save the dry grasshoppers
singing in the grass, and leaping before their footsteps; and the
robin's plaintive notes from the ash. So they went on and into the
silence of the wood. The soft warmth brooded over it--the winds were
still. High up in the beeches spots of red gold were widening slowly,
and the acorns showed thickly on the oaks. Then past narrow "drives,"
or tracks going through the woods, bounded on each side with endless
walls of ashpoles with branches of pole green; carpeted with dark-green
grass and darker moss luxuriating in the dank shade, and roofed with
spreading oak-spray. These vistas seemed to lead into unknown depths of
forest. They paused and looked down one, feeling an indefinite desire
of exploration; and as they looked in the silence a leaf fell, brown and
tanned, with a trembling rustle, and they saw its brown oval dot the
rank green grass, upon whose blades it was upborne. On again, and out
into a broad glade, where the rabbits had been at play, and raced to
their hiding-places. Here were clumps of beeches, brown with
innumerable nuts; straight-grown Spanish chestnuts, with spiny green
balls of fruit; knotted oaks; and tall limes, already yellow and filled
by the sunshine with a hazy shimmer of colour. Over the glade a dome of
deep-blue sky, and a warm loving sun, whose drowsy shadows lingered and
moved slow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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