Thanks
be for life; it was good to live!
But Woman, she was, as the wise aforetime knew, infinitely poor in mind,
but rich in irresponsibility, in vanity, in wantonness. Like a child in
many ways, but with nothing of its innocence.
* * * * *
I stand by the guide-post where the road turns off to Ovrebo. There is no
emotion in me. The day lies broad and bright over meadow and woods; here
and there is ploughing and harrowing in the fields, but all moves slowly,
hardly seems to move at all, for it is full noon and a blazing sun. I walk
a little way on beyond the post, dragging out the time before going up to
the house. After an hour, I go into the woods and wander about there for a
while; there are berries in flower and a scent of little green leaves. A
crowd of thrushes go chasing a crow across the sky, making a great to-do,
like a clattering confusion of faulty castanets. I lie down on my back,
with my sack under my head, and drop off to sleep.
A little after I wake again, and walk over to the nearest ploughman.
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