12 GOLDEN DAYS 



which to lie full length and philosophise 

 on the unimportance of an empty creel. 

 After all it might have been much worse, 

 for little fleecy clouds sailed high aloft, 

 warm airs played through my clothing 

 from head to foot and caressed me into a 

 mood of forgetfulness. Gradually the 

 colour returned to the sunlight. Pan 

 was out in the woods again and shouting 

 joyously from the splash of gorse on the 

 hillside ; a little faint haze lay among the 

 tall and slender ash-stems in the hollow, 

 where the water slept green and opalescent 

 in deep pools between the willows. From 

 farther up I could hear from time to time 

 the sound of chopping wood. It was 

 good to lie here in the warmth, limbs 

 relaxed, the open sky above. My hands 

 in cushioning my head must have crushed 

 wild thyme, for its fragrance crept round 

 and enveloped me. Not only scent, but 

 sound and sight, became very close and 

 intimate. The chopping had ceased, and 

 now another voice became apparent from 

 across the valley — a tinkle of flowing 

 water over a gravel- bed. Leaning on my 

 elbow, I found it out. Not the main river 



