WINDS Of HEAVEN. 45 



air-cloud adhering like a summer garment to the great 

 downs by the sea. I cannot see the substance of the 

 hills nor their exact curve along the sky ; all I can see 

 is the air that has thickened and taken to itself form 

 about them. The atmosphere has collected as the 

 shadow collects in the distant corner of a room — it is the 

 shadow of the summer wind. At times it is so soft, so 

 little more than the air at hand, that I almost fancy I 

 can look through the solid boundary. There is no cloud 

 so faint ; the great hills are but a thought at the horizon ; 

 I think them there rather than see them ; if I were not 

 thinking of them, I should scarce know there was even 

 a haze, with so dainty a hand does the atmosphere throw 

 its covering over the massy downs. Riding or passing 

 quickly perhaps you would not observe them ; but stay 

 among the heathbells, and the sketch appears in the 

 south. Up from the sea over the corn-fields, through the 

 green boughs of the forest, along the slope, comes a 

 breath of wind, of honey-sweetened air, made more 

 delicate by the fanning of a thousand wings. 



The labour of the wind : the cymbals of the aspen 

 clashing, from the lowest to the highest bough, each leaf 

 twirling first forwards and then backwards and swinging 

 to and fro, a double motion. Each lifts a little and falls 

 back like a pendulum, twisting on itself ; and as it rises 

 and sinks, strikes its fellow-leaf. Striking the side of 

 the dark pines, the wind changes their colour and turns 

 them paler. The oak leaves slide one over the other, 

 hand above hand, laying shadow upon shadow upon the 

 white road. In the vast net of the wide elm-tops the 

 drifting shadow of the cloud which the wind brings is 

 caught for a moment. Pushing aside the stiff ranks of 

 the wheat with both arms, the air reaches the sun-parched 

 earth. It walks among the mowing-grass like a farmer 



