UPLAND PASTURES 19 



into the very vapours. The last heave of the pasture 

 into the woods is shrouded one moment in gray mist, 

 and cleared the next by a freak of the wind, revealing 

 the tall trees beyond and a glimpse into the high defile 

 of Cannon Mountain. The cloud whips cold and 

 numbing about us. Looking back down the pasture we 

 can see the rain-drenched farms, and the western hill 

 wall going up again into cloud. Just over us the dark 

 wrack moves with incredible speed, propelled by a wind 

 we cannot feel. We are on the very under edge of the 

 cloud-drive, in curious kinship with the storm. 



But no words on upland pastures would be com- 

 plete without mention of the stars. The charm of up- 

 land pastures is their isolation, their fellowship with 

 cloud and wind, their silence and their spaciousness, 

 lifted far above the valley, adventurous of the heights; 

 and the boon companions of isolation are the stars. 



The sunset glow has long faded in the west, the elfin 

 spires are but black shadows on purple depth, the Pea- 

 bodies and thrushes have ceased their song, and only 

 an owl or a night-hawk sneaks on silent wing from the 

 woods behind yet still we remain amid the warm 

 fragrance of the balsams, loath to leave, or perhaps 

 wrapped in our blankets not intending to leave till we 

 have boiled our morning coffee against a bowlder, while 

 the sun flatters "the mountain tops with sovereign 

 eye." No valley lamps are visible from this high, 

 sheltered chamber. But a planet hangs like a beacon 



