Capitolo 22
of evergreens was not, then, one of the generosities of Nature; they had
planted state.
It was the to taper slender it buds of these evergreenses with their note
in immortal spring that you/he/she mainly has taken the eye on the whole panorama
this day in dead winter. Under the light of silvery-violet of their sky
waited in beauty and in peace: the pale green of lard and it fits tightly
what it seems to go with the freshness to always drip Aprils; the
weak blue-grey of pines that rather they belong to summer far-to time
skies; and the dark green of firs--the true coat in comfortable winter when
snows mournfully sieve and icicles are piercing through earthward.
These evergreenses likewise had their Christmas that wants to say and they ended the
portrait of the earth that gives. Otherwise from other things, they satisfied,
any appetite, they was ministers to any passions; but with them the
Christmas of the intellect started: the human heart was to drape them
you copper with his/her kind poetry; and from theirs way of living ever buds the
the spiritual hope of humanity would take its flight toward the eternity.
So then the earth in winter waited for the oncoming of that strange
travelling party of the world that has wandered in him and you/he/she has camped
type gypsy from the old lost countries: the party of which he/she takes toll
field and wood, of clog and it flies, of cup and loaf; but that, better of
all, tightened by the nature of man his/her reluctant tenderness for his
individuals and forms out of his/her doubts solitary respect to this life his
faith in a best.
It is central on this silent and whole scene--the tallest element in him--his/her
a winter-red flower of passion--the immovable woman that waits out
the house.
He finally went out on the footstep.
He cast a rapid glance toward the sky as if his/her first thought both
of what the time was about to be. Then as him he/she buttoned the top
button of his/her overcoat and it pressed down his/her bearded chin on him to