The Wolf Point herald. (Wolf Point, Mont.) 1913-1940, 1927-10-28
WITHIN MONTANA
AUTUMN I'm MONTANA

Sometimes one happens upon
an unexpected pleasure. In the
midst of the grind Of a busy week
our morning paper, The Great
Falls Tribune, yields the rare lit
erary morsel reprinted below
word picture we have seen and
felt and adored but lacked the
power to phrase. The clipping
from the Tribune's editorial page
follows:
Sunlight like silver dust sift-
ing upon the landscape; valleys,
prairie lands and hills oyerlain
with amber; mountains in sap
phire softness creased against the
cerulean heavens; an atmosphere,
e%xhilirating in vivid majesty yet
soothing in u%nfathomed calm
such is the perfect autumn day
in Montana. Lovingly the year
has fashioned, jealousy she has
shielded her rarest days to Law
ish on the dying flowers.
"The same landscape as ever
before-the same valleys, prairie
lands, hills and mountains as in
the moods Of spring and summer;
yet in the sublime perfection of
autumn the earth is translated in
to a wonder place, seen but not
understood. We marvel at the
subdued beauty of it, revel in the
vast glory of it, and live as it
were in the paradise of a dream.
No artist has garnered to his
brush more than a glimpse of it;
no poet has phrased but a sparkle
of it. For such autumn days as
Montana is experiencing over
whelm the soul with ~undefnable
rapture but defy the power of
brush or word to describe.
eve exult in the loviness OF
these days. There is much of I'M
alIoyed fascination, much Of
charm. Near at hand is that most
common symbol of autumn, the
falling leaves, livid and golden,
rusted in the decadence of sum-
mer. A breeze seemingly unborn
of a cloud touches them, and,
Ioosed from the n%urturing tree to
which they clung through hope
full ascendency, they flutter into
the bosom of Mother Earth.
"They glitter in embellishing
grandeur. Then at last they sere
into sombre brown, and as they
are lifted by the gust, one hears
their rustling footsteps as they
dance their dance of death. Or
along the stream where the
branches bend over, we e them
spin in fanciful cadence into the
water, to shine like tiny lilies on
the eddying mirror.
'Here and there on the wood
lands verge or in the depth of
the glen we find a flower far re-
moved from the season of it's
species. 1t may be such a bios
som as we see in spring, such a
bud as breaks in summer. And
comprehending it here alone,
blooming unafrightened by the
days that soon must come, we are
overcome by a compelling phil
osophy which brings a new medi-
tation.
'Here, in the flower, in the leaf,
is death without regret, transition
without sorrow from joy to mel
ancholy. Perhaps we find here
the pervading lesson of creations
progress. For the flowers, though
they wither, scatter their seeds
for the springtime. The trees,
now furnishing the hillside and
the valley, give up their verdure,
but another harvest is sown. AL
ways there lies the spring beyond,
the spring with its awakening,
rejuvenation. So here is death
that is but the beginning of life.
'FFor each of us there is a con-
ception of autumn which must be
quite our own. For one it may
be the oyerawing sublimity in all
the world about us; for another
the parable in mellowing leaf and
waning flower; for another the
chromatic treasures of the sunset.
But for each of us in his degree
of comprehension of the beautiful,
the perfect autumn day in Mon
tana is a revelation of unmeasur-
able magnificience."