My First Summer 



crashing, intensely concentrated, speaking 

 with such tremendous energy it would seem 

 that an entire mountain is being shattered 

 at every stroke, but probably only a few 

 trees are being shattered, many of which I 

 have seen on my walks hereabouts strewing 

 the ground. At last the clear ringing strokes 

 are succeeded by deep low tones that grow 

 gradually fainter as they roll afar into the 

 recesses of the echoing mountains, where 

 they seem to be welcomed home. Then 

 another and another peal, or rather crash- 

 ing, splintering stroke, follows in quick suc- 

 cession, perchance splitting some giant pine 

 or fir from top to bottom into long rails 

 and slivers, and scattering them to all points 

 of the compass. Now comes the rain, with 

 corresponding extravagant grandeur, cover- 

 ing the ground high and low with a sheet 

 of flowing water, a transparent film fitted 

 like a skin upon the rugged anatomy of 

 the landscape, making the rocks glitter an 

 glow, gathering in the ravines, flooding the 

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