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My Dear Mother,
I have been in the country with my friend Ang Ti-ti. It was the time of
pilgrimage to the graves of her family at the temple near Wu-seh. My
household gave me many worries, and my husband said it was a time
of rest for me, so we took a boat, with only a few servants, as I am
tired of chattering women, and spent three long happy days amongst
the hills. We sat upon the deck as the boat was slowly drawn along
the canal, and watched the valley that autumn now is covering with
her colours rare. All the green of the fields is changed. All the gay
foliage of the trees upon the hillsides will soon be dead and crumbling.
These withered leaves that once waved gaily in the air are lying now in
clustered heaps, or fluttering softly to the ground like dull, brown
butterflies who are tired with flight. The only touch of colour is on the
maple-trees, which still cling with jealous hands to coverings of red
and gold. The autumn winds wailed sadly around our cabin windows,
and every gust brought desolation to tree and shrub and waving grass.
Far away the setting sun turned golden trees to flame, and now and
then on the sluggish waters of the canal would drift in lonely splendour
a shining leaf that autumn winds had touched and made into a thing of
more than beauty.
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