第9部分

請關閉瀏覽器的閱讀/暢讀/小說模式並且關閉廣告遮蔽過濾功能，避免出現內容無法顯示或者段落錯亂。

　The　trees　begin　to　proclaim　the　change。　Soon　the　leaves　will　be　discarded；　the　grass　will　sere。　But　the　miracle　of　life　persists；　the　mysterious　germ　of　growth　and　renewal　that　is　the　seed　itself。

This　is　gossamer　season。　Dawn　shimmers　with　spider　filaments；　proof　that　late　hatches　of　spiderlings　have　the　instinct　to　travel。　On　such　gossamer　strands　tiny　spiders　have　traveled　into　the　Arctic　and　almost　to　the　summits　of　the　Himalayas。　Soon　milkweed　pods　will　open　with　their　silver　floss。

This　is　the　season　of　the　harvest　moon。　With　reasonably　clear　skies　it　will　be　a　moonlit　week；　for　the　harvest　moon　is　nothasty；　it　es　early　and　stays　late。　There　was　a　time　when　the　busy　farmer　could　return　to　the　fields　after　supper　and　continue　his　harvest　by　moonlight。　There’s　still　harvesting　to　be　done；　but　much　of　it　now　centers　on　the　kitchen　rather　than　the　barns。　The　last　bountiful　yield　es　from　the　garden；　the　late　sweet　corn；　the　tomatoes；　the　root　vegetables。　The　canning；　the　preserving；　the　freezing；　the　kitchen　harvest　in　all　its　variety；　reaches　its　peak。

First　frost　es　in　the　night；　a　clear；　scant…starred　night　when　the　moon　is　near　its　fullness。　It　es　without　a　whisper；　quiet　as　thistle　down；　brushing　the　corner　of　a　hillside　garden。　Dawn　es　and　you　see　its　path—the　glistening　leaf；　the　gleaming　stem；　the　limp；　blackening　garden　vine。

Another　night　or　two　the　frost　walks　the　valleys　in　the　moonlight。　Then　it　goes　back　beyond　the　northern　hills　to　wait　a　little　longer；　and　the　golden　mildness　of　early　autumn　forts　the　land。　A　faint　anise　smell　is　on　the　air；　goldenrod　scent。　The　mistswirls　and　September　shines　through；　the　deep…blue　sky　of　September。

To　warm…blooded　creatures；　the　crisp；　cool　nights　of　September　are　invigorating。　But