May and June are the main bloom-months of the year. Both the flowers
and falls are then at their best. By the first of August the midsummer
glories of the Valley are past their prime. The young birds are then out
of their nests. Most of the plants have gone to seed; berries are ripe;
autumn tints begin to kindle and burn over meadow and grove, and a soft
mellow haze in the morning sunbeams heralds the approach of Indian
summer. The shallow river is now at rest, its flood-work done. It is now
but little more than a series of pools united by trickling, whispering
currents that steal softly over brown pebbles and sand with scarce an
audible murmur. Each pool has a character of its own and, though they
are nearly currentless, the night air and tree shadows keep them cool.
Their shores curve in and out in bay and promontory, giving the
appearance of miniature lakes, their banks in most places embossed with
brier and azalea, sedge and grass and fern; and above these in their
glory of autumn colors a mingled growth of alder, willow, dogwood and
balm-of-Gilead; mellow sunshine overhead, cool shadows beneath; light
filtered and strained in passing through the ripe leaves like that which
passes through colored windows. The surface of the water is stirred,
perhaps, by whirling water-beetles, or some startled trout, seeking
shelter beneath fallen logs or roots.
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