Seems as if something unknown were possibly
lurking in those bushes, or solitary places. Nay, it is quite certain
there is--some vital unseen presence.
AN AFTERNOON SCENE
_Feb. 22_.--Last night and to-day rainy and thick, till mid-afternoon,
when the wind chopp'd round, the clouds swiftly drew off like
curtains, the clear appear'd, and with it the fairest, grandest,
most wondrous rainbow I ever saw, all complete, very vivid at its
earth-ends, spreading vast effusions of illuminated haze, violet,
yellow, drab-green, in all directions overhead, through which the sun
beam'd--an indescribable utterance of color and light, so gorgeous yet
so soft, such as I had never witness'd before. Then its continuance: a
full hour pass'd before the last of those earth-ends disappear'd. The
sky behind was all spread in translucent blue, with many little white
clouds and edges. To these a sunset, filling, dominating the esthetic
and soul senses, sumptuously, tenderly, full. I end this note by the
pond, just light enough to see, through the evening shadows, the
western reflections in its water-mirror surface, with inverted figures
of trees. I hear now and then the _flup_ of a pike leaping out, and
rippling the water.
THE GATES OPENING
_April 6_.--Palpable spring indeed, or the indications of it. I am
sitting in bright sunshine, at the edge of the creek, the surface just
rippled by the wind. All is solitude, morning freshness, negligence.
For companions my two kingfishers sailing, winding, darting, dipping,
sometimes capriciously separate, then flying together.
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