Every
morning a breeze blew steadily from the hills. Toward noon it built up
great canopies of white cloud that threw a cool shadow over fields and
woods; then before sunset the clouds dissolved again, and the western
light rained its unobstructed brightness on the valley.
On such an afternoon Charity Royall lay on a ridge above a sunlit
hollow, her face pressed to the earth and the warm currents of the grass
running through her. Directly in her line of vision a blackberry branch
laid its frail white flowers and blue-green leaves against the sky. Just
beyond, a tuft of sweet-fern uncurled between the beaded shoots of the
grass, and a small yellow butterfly vibrated over them like a fleck of
sunshine. This was all she saw; but she felt, above her and about her,
the strong growth of the beeches clothing the ridge, the rounding of
pale green cones on countless spruce-branches, the push of myriads of
sweet-fern fronds in the cracks of the stony slope below the wood,
and the crowding shoots of meadowsweet and yellow flags in the pasture
beyond.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60