Around the grove of trees was a bare space.

The path was smooth and the dew was cool on his bare feet.

There was the cottage, the porch bare, smoke coming from the chimney.

The fruit had been picked and the fall wind blew through the bare trees.

The vineyards were thin and bare-branched too and all the country wet and brown and dead with the autumn.

The trees had grown tall and the branches moved high, leaving in the sun this bare space they had once covered with shadow.

The plain was rich with crops; there were many orchards of fruit trees and beyond the plain the mountains were brown and bare.

In the swamp the banks were bare, the big cedars came together overhead, the sun did not come through, except in patches; in the fast deep water, in the half light, the fishing would be tragic.

There was fighting for that mountain too, but it was not successful, and in the fall when the rains came the leaves all fell from the chestnut trees and the branches were bare and the trunks black with rain.

When I had used them all I had to find more worms, and sometimes it was very difficult digging in the bank of the stream where the cedar trees kept out the sun and there was no grass but only the bare moist earth and often I could find no worms.

The trunks of the trees too were dusty and the leaves fell early that year and we saw the troops marching along the road and the dust rising and leaves, stirred by the breeze, falling and the soldiers marching and afterward the road bare and white except for the leaves.