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Pageant of Summer
by Richard Jefferies
I。
GREEN rushes； long and thick； standing up above the edge of the
ditch； told the hour of the year as distinctly as the shadow on the
dial the hour of the day。 Green and thick and sappy to the touch；
they felt like summer； soft and elastic； as if full of life； mere
rushes though they were。 On the fingers they left a green scent；
rushes have a separate scent of green； so； too； have ferns； very
different from that of grass or leaves。 Rising from brown sheaths；
the tall stems enlarged a little in the middle； like classical
columns； and heavy with their sap and freshness； leaned against the
hawthorn sprays。 From the earth they had drawn its moisture； and
made the ditch dry； some of the sweetness of the air had entered
into their fibres； and the rushes … the common rushes … were full
of beautiful summer。 The white pollen of early grasses growing on
the edge was dusted from them each time the hawthorn boughs were
shaken by a thrush。 These lower sprays came down in among the
grass； and leaves and grass…blades touched。 Smooth round stems of
angelica； big as a gun…barrel； hollow and strong； stood on the
slope of the mound； their tiers of well…balanced branches rising
like those of a tree。 Such a sturdy growth pushed back the ranks
of hedge parsley in full white flower； which blocked every avenue
and winding bird's…path of the bank。 But the 〃gix；〃 or wild
parsnip； reached already high above both； and would rear its fluted
stalk； joint on joint； till it could face a man。 Trees they were
to the lesser birds； not even bending if perched on； but though so
stout； the birds did not place their nests on or against them。
Something in the odour of these umbelliferous plants； perhaps； is
not quite liked； if brushed or bruised they give out a bitter
greenish scent。 Under their cover； well shaded and hidden； birds
build； but not against or on the stems； though they will affix
their nests to much less certain supports。 With the grasses that
overhung the edge； with the rushes in the ditch itself； and these
great plants on the mound； the whole hedge was wrapped and
thickened。 No cunning of glance could see through it； it would
have needed a ladder to help any one look over。
It was between the may and the June roses。 The may bloom had
fallen； and among the hawthorn boughs were the little green bunches
that would feed the red…wings in autumn。 High up the briars had
climbed； straight and towering while there was a thorn or an ash
sapling； or a yellow…green willow； to uphold them； and then curving
over towards the meadow。 The buds were on them； but not yet open；
it was between the may and the rose。
As the wind； wandering over the sea； takes from each wave an
invisible portion； and brings to those on shore the ethereal
essence of ocean； so the air lingering among the wood and hedges …
green waves and billows … became full of fine atoms of summer。
Swept from notched hawthorn leaves； broad…topped oak…leaves； narrow
ash sprays and oval willows； from vast elm cliffs and sharp…taloned
brambles under； brushed from the waving grasses and stiffening
corn； the dust of the sunshine was borne along and breathed。
Steeped in flower and pollen to the music of bees and birds； the
stream of the atmosphere became a living thing。 It was life to
breathe it； for the air itself was life。 The strength of the earth
went up through the leaves into the wind。 Fed thus on the food of
the Immortals； the heart opened to the width and depth of the
summer … to the broad horizon afar； down to the minutest creature
in the grass； up to the highest swallow。 Winter shows us Matter in
its dead form； like the Primary rocks； like granite and basalt …
clear but cold and frozen crystal。 Summer shows us Matter changing
into life； sap rising from the earth through a million tubes； the
alchemic power of light entering the solid oak； and see！ it bursts
forth in countless leaves。 Living things leap in the grass； living
things drift upon the air； living things are coming forth to
breathe in every hawthorn bush。 No longer does the immense weight
of Matter … the dead； the crystallized … press ponderously on the
thinking mind。 The whole office of Matter is to feed life … to
feed the green rushes； and the roses that are about to be； to feed
the swallows above； and us that wander beneath them。 So much
greater is this green and common rush than all the Alps。
Fanning so swiftly； the wasp's wings are but just visible as he
passes； did he pause； the light would be apparent through their
texture。 On the wings of the dragon…fly as he hovers an instant
before he darts there is a prismatic gleam。 These wing textures
are even more delicate than the minute filaments on a swallow's
quill； more delicate than the pollen of a flower。 They are formed
of matter indeed； but how exquisitely it is resolved into the means
and organs of life！ Though not often consciously recognized；
perhaps this is the great pleasure of summer； to watch the earth；
the dead particles； resolving themselves into the living case of
life； to see the seed…leaf push aside the clod and become by
degrees the perfumed flower。 From the tiny mottled egg come the
wings that by…and…by shall pass the immense sea。 It is in this
marvellous transformation of clods and cold matter into living
things that the joy and the hope of summer reside。 Every blade of
grass； each leaf； each separate floret and petal； is an inscription
speaking of hope。 Consider the grasses and the oaks； the swallows；
the sweet blue butterfly … they are one and all a sign and token
showing before our eyes earth made into life。 So that my hope
becomes as broad as the horizon afar； reiterated by every leaf；
sung on every bough； reflected in the gleam of every flower。 There
is so much for us yet to come； so much to be gathered； and enjoyed。
Not for you or me； now； but for our race； who will ultimately use
this magical secret for their happiness。 Earth holds secrets
enough to give them the life of the fabled Immortals。 My heart is
fixed firm and stable in the belief that ultimately the sunshine
and the summer； the flowers and the azure sky； shall become； as it
were； interwoven into man's existence。 He shall take from all
their beauty and enjoy their glory。 Hence it is that a flower is
to me so much more than stalk and petals。 When I look in the glass
I see that every line in my face means pessimism； but in spite of
my face … that is my experience … I remain an optimist。 Time with
an unsteady hand has etched thin crooked lines； and； deepening the
hollows； has cast the original expression into shadow。 Pain and
sorrow flow over us with little ceasing； as the sea…hoofs beat on
the beach。 Let us not look at ourselves but onwards； and take
strength from the leaf and the signs of the field。 He is indeed
despicable who cannot look onwards to the ideal life of man。 Not
to do so is to deny our birthright of mind。
The long grass flowing towards the hedge has reared in a wave
against it。 Along the hedge it is higher and greener； and rustles
into the very bushes。 There is a mark only now where the footpath
was； it passed close to the hedge； but its place is traceable only
as a groove in the sorrel and seed…tops。 Though it has quite
filled the path； the grass there cannot send its tops so high； it
has left a winding crease。 By the hedge here stands a moss…grown
willow； and its slender branches extend over the sward。 Beyond it
is an oak； just apart from the bushes； then the ground gently
rises； and an ancient pollard ash； hollow and black inside； guards
an open gateway like a low tower。 The different tone of green
shows that the hedge is there of nut…trees； but one great hawthorn
spreads out in a semicircle； roofing the grass which is yet more
verdant in the still pool （as it were） under it。 Next a corner；
more oaks； and a chestnut in bloom。 Returning to this spot an old
apple tree stands right out in the meadow like an island。 There
seemed just now the tiniest twinkle of movement by the rushes； but
it was lost among the hedge parsley。 Among the grey leaves of the
willow there is another flit of motion； and visible now against the
sky there is a little brown bird； not to be distinguished at the
moment from the many other little brown birds that are known to be
about。 He got up into the willow from the hedge parsley somehow；
without being seen to climb or fly。 Suddenly he crosses to the
tops of the hawthorn and immediately flings himself up into the air
a yard or two； his wings and ruffled crest making a ragged outline；
jerk； jerk； jerk； as if it were with the utmost difficulty he could
keep even at that height。 He scolds； and twitters； and chir