..
I rise and listen. No one has heard me. I sit down again.
"Thanks for the lonely night, for the hills, the rush of the darkness
and the sea through my heart! Thanks for my life, for my breath, for the
boon of being alive to-night; thanks from my heart for these! Hear, east
and west, oh, hear. It is the eternal God. This silence murmuring in my
ears is the blood of all Nature seething; it is God weaving through the
world and me. I see a glistening gossamer thread in the light of my
fire; I hear a boat rowing across the harbour; the northern lights flare
over the heavens to the north. By my immortal soul, I am full of thanks
that it is I who am sitting here!"
Silence. A fir cone falls dully to the ground. A fir cone fell! I think
to myself. The moon is high, the fire flickers over the half-burned
brands and is dying. And in the late night I wander home.
The second iron night; the same stillness and mild weather. My soul is
pondering. I walk mechanically over to a tree, pull my cap deep down
over my eyes, and lean against that tree, with hands clasped behind my
neck. I gazed and think; the flame from my fire dazzles my eyes, and I
do not feel it. I stand in that stupor for a while, looking at the fire;
my legs fail me first, and grow tired; thoroughly stiff, I sit down.
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