The Pageant of Summer E-Book

Richard Jefferies

• Herausgeber: DigiCat
• Kategorie: Wissenschaft und neue Technologien
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

In "The Pageant of Summer," Richard Jefferies masterfully intertwines natural observation with reflective prose, creating a vivid tapestry that celebrates the lush beauty of the English countryside. The book adopts an impressionistic style, blending poetic descriptions with philosophical musings. Jefferies captures the essence of rural life during the height of summer, invoking not only the serene landscapes but also the intricate relationships between humanity and nature. This work is contextualized within the Victorian era's growing interest in natural philosophy and the Romantic movement's emphasis on the sublime, making it a pivotal exploration of ecological awareness during a period of industrial transformation. Richard Jefferies, an influential English author and naturalist, was deeply connected to the landscapes of his native Wiltshire. His upbringing in a rural environment instilled in him a profound appreciation for nature, which is vividly reflected in his writing. Jefferies's struggles with health and the pressures of urbanization further fueled his desire to depict the beauty of the natural world, offering a poignant escape for himself and his readers from the rapidly changing society of the time. For readers seeking a poetic exploration of the natural world and a meditation on the passage of time, "The Pageant of Summer" is an essential read. Jefferies's evocative prose invites readers to pause and reflect on the beauty around them, making it a timeless classic for both nature lovers and literary enthusiasts alike.

Leseprobe

Richard Jefferies

The Pageant of Summer

 

EAN 8596547130338

DigiCat, 2022 Contact: [email protected]

Table of Contents

Cover

Titlepage

I.

II.

I.

Table of Contents

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.