The earth was quiet--only a little
breath of wind and the sound of a bird here and there. I lay and watched
the branches waving gently in the breeze; the little wind was at its
work, carrying pollen from branch to branch and filling every innocent
bloom; all the forest seemed filled with delight. A green worm thing, a
caterpillar, dragged itself end by end along a branch, dragging along
unceasingly, as if it could not rest. It saw hardly anything, for all it
had eyes; often it stood straight up in the air, feeling about for
something to take hold of; it looked like a stump of green thread sewing
a seam with long stitches along the branch. By evening, perhaps, it
would have reached its goal.
Quiet as ever. I get up and move on, sit down and get up again. It is
about four o'clock; about six I can start for home, and see if I happen
to meet anyone. Two hours to wait; a little restless already, I brush
the dust and heather from my clothes. I know the places I pass by, trees
and stones stand there as before in their solitude; the leaves rustle
underfoot as I walk. The monotonous breathing and the familiar trees and
stones mean much to me; I am filled with a strange thankfulness;
everything seems well disposed towards me, mingles with my being; I love
it all.
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