The things we do!

I open my shirt and let the wind blow in upon me, and I mark
how I grow starstruck and uncontrollable within; ah, for a moment it is
all as years ago, when I was young, and a wilder spirit than now. And I
think to myself: maybe there's a tract of woodland somewhere east or west
of this, where an old man can find himself as well bested as a young. I
will go and look for it.
Rain and sun and wind by turns; I have been many days on the road already.
Too cold yet to lie out in the open at night, but there is always shelter
to be had at farmsteads by the way. One man thinks it strange that I
should go tramping about like this for nothing; he takes me, no doubt, for
somebody in disguise, just trying to be original like Wergeland.
[Footnote: A Norwegian poet.]The man knows nothing of my plans, how I am
on my way to a place I know, where live some people I have a fancy to see
again. But he is a sensible fellow enough, and involuntarily I nod as if
to agree there is something in what he says.


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