In his ‘Ode to a Nightingale’, Keats wrote of a ‘light-winged Dryad of the trees’ singing of summer in ‘some melodious plot of beechen green’. The beechen green has now become beechen gold and brown, but I can still imagine Dryads singing of the beauty of mighty Beech trees, in all their autumnal finery, and even performing paeans in praise of their statuesque forms once those golden leaves have fallen.
Dave Miles said:
Beautiful trees and wonderful autumnal colours. We once had a beech tree outside the front door and were continually sweeping leaves out of the house.
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I think I’d be happy to do that sweeping if I had a beech outside my front door. 🙂