The last village was far behind. The last happy
chapel -goer had passed me long ago. A cock
crowed once and said the last word on repose.
The rain fell gently ; the stems of the hazels in
the thickets gleamed ; and the acorns in the grassy 
roads, and under the groups of oaks, showed all
their colours, and especially the rosy hues where
they had but just before been covered by the cup.
One by one I saw the things which make the
autumn hedges so glorious and strange at a little
distance : the yellow ash trees, with some green
leaves ; the hoary and yellow willows ; the haw-
thorns, purple and crimson and green ; the briers,
with most hips where there were fewest leaves ;
the green brambles with red fruit and black ; tall,
grey, and leafless thistles with a few small crimson
flowers ; the grey-green nettles with purple stems ;
the ragwort flowers ; and on the long, green, wet
grass the fallen leaves shining under red and
yellow oaks ; and through the olive lances of hazel
the fields shining in patines of emerald. Doves
cooed in the oaks, pheasants gleamed below. The
air was full of the sweetness of the taste of black-
berries, and the scent of mushrooms and of
crumbling, wild carrot-seeds, and the colour of
yellow, evening grass. The birches up on the hills
above the road were golden, and like flowers.
Between me and them a smouldering fire once or
twice sent up dancing crimson flames, and the
colour and perfume of the fire added themselves to
the power of the calm, vast, and windless evening,
of which the things I saw were as a few shells and
anemones at the edge of a great sea. The valley
waited and waited.
Wanderings and excursions in North Wales
Thomas Roscoe

File:Mansel Lewis - Picking Mushrooms.jpg