Country Life
By IAN NIALL • AN autumn afternoon seems to hang heavily when there is mist and the dying leaves drip with moisture. I went up to the little wood yesterday, hoping to pick a few blackberries and gather a mushroom or two from the decaying vegetation close to the path. Funguses there were of several sorts, red and yellow, and even a puff ball, but no mushrooms. Perhaps this was because I was nearly half the day late. The blackberries were tasteless. They nearly always are when there is no sun to dry and freshen them, for they quickly become rotten in the dampness and are a sure attraction for flies., In the little wood, close to the ivied cliff, three jackdaws sat dejectedly on a dead ash, having picked this spot because they could see about them without difficulty. They flew off without cawing, reminding me of the carrion crow on such occasions, for jackdaws are rarely silent when disturbed. Only a solitary tomtit made a sound in the needles of the pine. No blackbird scolded and the woodpigeons were silent. Far away someone rattled a can and made that curious sound designed to bring cows up from the pasture. It was milling time on a hushed, back-end afternoon, and very soon the purring of a petrol generator would proclaim the fact, but out of doors the countryside was shrouded and muffled in a mist that was almost night.
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