the stillness of the woods and fieldsThe stillness of the woods and fields is remarkable at this season of the year.There is not even the creak of a cricket to be heared.Of myriads of dry shrub oak leaves,not one rustles.Your own breath can rustle th

the stillness of the woods and fieldsThe stillness of the woods and fields is remarkable at this season of the year.There is not even the creak of a cricket to be heared.Of myriads of dry shrub oak leaves,not one rustles.Your own breath can rustle th
the stillness of the woods and fields
The stillness of the woods and fields is remarkable at this season of the year.There is not even the creak of a cricket to be heared.Of myriads of dry shrub oak leaves,not one rustles.Your own breath can rustle them,yet the breath of heaven does not suffice to.The trees have the aspect of waiting for winter.The autumnal leaves have lost their color; they are now truly sere,dead,and the woods wear a somber color.Summer and harvest are over.The hickories,birches,chestnuts,no less than the maples,have lost their leaves.The sprouts,which had shot up so vigorously to repair the damage which the choppers had done,have stopped short for the winter.Everything stands silent and expectant.If I listen,I hear only the note of chickadee… our most common and I may say native bird,most identified with our forests—or perchance the scream of a jay,or perchance from the solemn depths of these woods I hear tolling far away the knell of one departed.Thought rushes in to fill the vacuum.As you walk,however,the partridge still bursts away.The silent,dry,almost leafless,certainly fruitless woods.You wonder what cheer that bird can find in them.The partridge bursts away from the foot of a shrub oak like its own dry fruit,immortal bird!This sound still startles us.Dry goldnrods,now turned gray and white,lint our clothes as we walk.And the drooping,downy seed-vessels of the epilobium remind us of the summer.Perchance you will meet with a few solitary asters in the dry fields,with a little color left.The sumach is stripped of everything but its cone of red berries.

the stillness of the woods and fieldsThe stillness of the woods and fields is remarkable at this season of the year.There is not even the creak of a cricket to be heared.Of myriads of dry shrub oak leaves,not one rustles.Your own breath can rustle th
在一年的这个季节,树林和田野处于寂静之中颇不寻常.连蟋蟀的低唱都听不到了.虽有无数多的灌木栎树的枯叶子,却并不发出沙沙声.你自己呼一口气就能使它们沙沙作响,但上天的呼吸却不足以做到.树木都摆出一副等候冬天的样子.秋天的叶子已经褪了色；它们此时确实已干枯、死去,树木都带上了幽暗的色彩.夏季和丰收的时节都已结束了.山核桃、白桦树、栗树与枫树一样,都掉光了叶子.曾经那么生气勃勃的嫩芽,当时它们长出来是要修复砍伐造成的损失,此时却因为冬天,还没长大就停止了生长.一切都陷入沉寂,都处于期待之中.要是侧耳倾听的话,我只是听见美洲山雀的叫声——这种最常见的鸟儿,堪称我们的本地鸟,最能与我们的森林融为一体；也许偶尔有松鸦的尖叫,也许透过幽深的林子,远远的传来为某人去世鸣响的丧钟.思绪纷至沓来要填补这个真空.不过当你走动时,仍会有松鸡慌忙逃走.这是寂静、干燥、几乎掉光了叶子、当然也没有果实的林子.你会感到奇怪,鸟儿在这里能找到什么乐趣?松鸡从灌木栎树的根部慌忙逃窜,仿佛它是从树里长出的干果,不朽的鸟儿!那响动依然令我们大吃一惊.干巴的黄花此时已变得灰白,在我们走过时剐住我们的衣服.而柳叶菜低垂、毛茸茸的囊果皮让我们想起了夏天.也许我们还会在干燥的土地上邂逅几株近乎褪尽了色的单生的紫菀.漆树全被剥光了,只剩下红色的浆果.