Originally published in the Manchester Guardian on 28 October 1915

We have had cold winds and heavy rains here for the last day or two, and the dim mist that hangs along the hill summits suggests that more rain is still to come. Next time the sun shines it will gaze out upon a landscape that has perceptibly bronzed and mellowed. The poplars have now only the thinnest scattering of trembling golden leaves, yet it is strange to notice how few leaves suffice to give an effect of leafiness; indeed the compromise between form and colour in a tree seems never more effective than when nineteen out of every twenty leaves are down. The elms are still fully clothed, and are carrying to unusual length this year their habit of adopting autumn colour branch by branch. Fifty at least are in sight where I sit writing, and each displays two or three golden sheaves, some in the upper and some in the lower branches, while the bulk of the tree retains its deep dark summer green. As usual, chestnuts have been among the first trees to succumb completely, those that stand in the river valley being now bare.

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Source: Guardian Environment