UPLAND PASTURES 13 



It is good now and then to hobnob with the clouds, 

 to be intimate with the sky. " The world is too much 

 with us" down below; every house and tree is taller 

 than we are, and discourages the upward glance. But 

 here in the hilltop pasture nothing is higher than the 

 vision save the blue zenith and the white flotilla of the 

 clouds. Climbing over the tumbled wall, to be sure, 

 the grass-line is above your eye; and over it, but not 

 resting upon it, is a great Denali of a cumulus. It is 

 not resting upon the pasture ridge, because the imagina- 

 tion senses with the acuteness of a stereoscope the great 

 drop of space between, and feels the thrill of aerial per- 

 spective. Your feet hasten to the summit, and, once 

 upon it, your hat comes off, while the mountain wind 

 lifts through your hair and you feel yourself at the apex 

 and zenith of the universe. Far below lie the blue eyes 

 of Twin Lakes, and beyond them rises the beautiful 

 dome of the Taconics, ethereal blue in colour, yet solid 

 and eternal. Lift your face ever so little, and the green 

 world begins to fall from sight, the great cloud-ships, 

 sailing in the summer sky, begin to be the one thing 

 prominent. How softly they billow as they ride ! How 

 exquisite they are with curve and shadow and puffs 

 of silver light! Even as you watch, one sweeps across 

 the sun, and trails a shadow anchor over the pasture, 

 over your feet. You almost hold your breath as it 

 passes, for it seems in some subtle way as if the cloud 

 had touched you, had spoken you on its passage. 



