The lucidity, the clarity of the light that afternoon was suffit to itself; perfect transparency must be imperable, these vertical bars of a brass-coloured distillation of light ing down from sulphur-yellow iices in a sky hunkered with grey clouds that bulge with more rain. It struck the wood with nie-stained fingers, the leaves glittered. A cold day of late October, whehered blackberries dangled like their own dour spooks on the discoloured brambles. There were crisp husks of beechmast and cast a cups underfoot in the russet slime of dead bra where the rains of the equinox had so soaked the earth that the cold oozed up through the soles of the shoes, lanating cold of the approag of wihat grips hold of your belly and squeezed it tight. Now the stark elders have an anorexic look; there is not mu the autumn wood to make you smile but it is not yet, not quite yet, the saddest time of the year. Only, there is a haunting sense of the immi cessation of being;……（内容加载失败！）
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