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NishaGulati
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On a recent day in early autumn I stood leaning against a tall larch tree, o the edge of a broad plantation, in a woodland corner of the North of Devon. I had been an indoor prisoner for a long, long time, and this was my first country walk. What a blessing to breathe again the sweet , honey scented air! How very fresh-looking those meadows below, how green the trees! For autumn notwithstanding, the herbage had just reached that stage when it crowds all its many-tinted greens and the whole of its remaining vitality into one last sunny day; then very quickly follow death and decay. Even now, a few leaves on that sturdy oak, solitary in the field yonder,have turned to golden russet; the larches, too overhead are growing ragged and thin.
In the solemnity and silence of the fire-wood I find an analogy with the atmosphere of mysterious repose in some stately cathedral, in the midst of, yet apart from, the vortex of busy life without. Into the dim recesses of the fire-wood few sounds of natural life make their way-except , perhaps, the call of a crow passing over the tree-tops, or the scream of a startled jay; and these are but momentary. Presently leave the still woods to pass through the gap in the hedge, and so enter the busy whirl of wild life in the fields. It is a long way down to the little ivy-covered bridge that spans the river, so I do not hurry.
Here is the little bridge at last. It is built for the cattle to cross upon from one meadow to the other when the stream is flooded with winter rains. During the summer they scorn the bridge and splash across the water. Always a beautiful spot, it is never more beautiful than in the early autumn; moreover, for me it has pleasant associations. Up beyond the bridge is a waterfall , over which the water gallops from the shimmering, silvery weir-pool above into the boulder-scattered shallows beneath. Solitude adds to the charm. Indeed, a companion's voice could scarcely be heard amidst the little thunder of these dancing falls.