ON BALD MOUNTAIN 69 



between the mountains, all had white roofs, but 

 the landscape as a whole was anything but win- 

 try. Everywhere below me the great forest still 

 showed an abundance of bright hues, red, yel- 

 low, and russet, a piece of glorious pageantry, 

 though many shades less brilliant than I had 

 seen it two days before. 



So I am saying to myself when suddenly I 

 look upward, and behold, the cap is lifted from 

 Lafayette, and the mountain-top is clear white, 

 shining in the sunlight against the blue sky ; a 

 vision, it seems ; something not of this world ; 

 splendor immaculate, unearthly, unspeakable. 

 I feel like shouting, or tell myself that I do; 

 but for some reason I keep silence. Clouds 

 still hang about the mountains, their shapes 

 altering from glory to glory with every minute. 

 Now a band lies clean across Lafayette, immedi- 

 ately below the cone, detaching the white mass 

 from everything underneath, and leaving it, as 

 it were, floating in the air. 



A sharp-shinned hawk sails past me, nut- 

 hatches call from the valley woods, a snowbird 

 perches on a dwarf spruce at my elbow, a red 

 squirrel breaks into sudden spluttering, and then, 

 with hands uplifted, sits silent and motionless. 

 I mention these details, but they are nothing. 

 What I really see and feel is the world I am liv- 



