Does it pass away, or does it only lose its pristine quality? It deepens
and intensifies, like experience. The days seem to be darker and richer,
there is a sense of power in the strong air. On the banks by the lake
the orchids are out, many, many pale bee-orchids standing clear from the
short grass over the lake. And in the hollows are the grape hyacinths,
purple as noon, with the heavy, sensual fragrance of noon. They are
many-breasted, and full of milk, and ripe, and sun-darkened, like
many-breasted Diana.
We could not bear to live down in the village any more, now that the
days opened large and spacious and the evenings drew out in sunshine. We
could not bear the indoors, when above us the mountains shone in clear
air. It was time to go up, to climb with the sun.
So after Easter we went to San Gaudenzio. It was three miles away, up
the winding mule-track that climbed higher and higher along the lake.
Leaving the last house of the village, the path wound on the steep,
cliff-like side of the lake, curving into the hollow where the landslip
had tumbled the rocks in chaos, then out again on to the bluff of a
headland that hung over the lake.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147