From the book Howards End is on the Landing
Now, on a golden day in late September, I took two books out to a deckchair in the garden. The first apples were thumping down. The last swallows were dipping and soaring, dipping and soaring over the pond. A dragonfly hovered, its electric-blue back catching the sunlight. There had been an early mist and cobwebs draped over the long grass like parasols caught and held on their four corners. The air smelled of damp earth.
Now, on a golden day in late September, I took two books out to a deckchair in the garden. The first apples were thumping down. The last swallows were dipping and soaring, dipping and soaring over the pond. A dragonfly hovered, its electric-blue back catching the sunlight. There had been an early mist and cobwebs draped over the long grass like parasols caught and held on their four corners. The air smelled of damp earth.
