The steam whistle at a distance sounds even like the hum of a bee in a flower. So man’s works fall into nature.
The flies hum at mid-afternoon, as if peevish and weary of the length of the days. The river is shrunk to summer width; on the sides smooth whitish water,—or rather it is the light from the pads;—in the middle, dark blue or slate, ripple.
The color of the earth at a distance where a wood has been cut off is a reddish brown. Nature has put no large object on the face of New England so glaringly white as a white house.
1 comment:
do we compliment nature by being here yes we do!,but what we build and set on its landscape only destroys its natural beauty!,what choice do we have? globally as a race none we will farm and populate it to extinction!, unless war or a virus gets us first, then the world will go back to how it was!, time will win,we are but a carbon footprint!,we killed ourselves, yes we were to smart for our own good!. michael jameson oldantiqueguy@hotmail.com
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