THE ANTIQUITY OF RIVER PLANTS
In the still gossamer weather of late October, when the webs lie sheeted
on the flat green meadows and spools of the air-spiders' silk float over
the waters, the birds and fish and insects and flowers of the best of
England's rivers show themselves for the last time in that golden autumn
sun, and make their bow to the audience before retiring for the year. All
the living things become for a few brief hours happy and careless,
drinking to the full the last drops of the mere joy of life before the
advent of winter and rough weather. The bank flowers still show blossom
among the seed-heads, and though the thick round rushes have turned to
russet, the forget-me-not is still in flower; and though the water-lilies
have all gone to the bottom again, and the swallows no longer skim over
the surface, the river seems as rich in life as ever; and the birds and
fish, unfrightened by the boat traffic, are tamer and more visible.
[Illustration: A FLOWERY BANK NEAR COOKHAM. _From a photograph by E.
Seeley_.]
The things in the waters and growing out of the waters are very, very old.
The mountains have been burnt with fire; lava grown solid has turned to
earth again and grows vines; chalk was once sea-shells; but the clouds and
the rivers have altered not their substance.
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