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 ¢hznk 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 fora 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 
