All the world over we are very conscious of the trees in spring, and watch with delight how the network of twigs on the wych-elms is becoming spangled with tiny puce flowers, like little beetles caught in a spider’s web, and how little lemon-coloured buds are studding the thorn. While as to the long red-gold buds of the horsechestnuts–they come bursting out with a sort of visual bang. And now the beech is hatching its tiny perfectly-formed leaves–and all the other trees in turn. And at first we delight in the diversity of the colors and shapes of the various young leaves–noting how those of the birch are like a swarm of green bees, and those of the lime so transparent that they are stained black with the shadow of those above and beneath them, and how those of the elm diaper the sky with the prettiest pattern, and are the ones that grow most slowly. Then we cease to note their idiosyncrasies, and they merge, till autumn, into one solid, unobtrusive green curtain for throwing into relief brighter and sharper things. There is nothing so dumb as a tree in full leaf. /Lud-in-the-Mist/, Hope Mirrlees
Posted on: Sun, 28 Jul 2013 11:15:50 +0000
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