Цвет из иных миров

           Weedsandbriersreigned,andfurtivewildthingsrustledintheundergrowth.Uponeverythingwasahazeofrestlessnessandoppression;atouchoftheunrealandthegrotesque,asifsomevitalelementofperspectiveorchiaroscurowereawry.Ididnotwonderthattheforeignerswouldnotstay,forthiswasnoregiontosleepin.ItwastoomuchlikealandscapeofSalvatorRosa;toomuchlikesomeforbiddenwoodcutinataleofterror.

           Butevenallthiswasnotsobadastheblastedheath.IknewitthemomentIcameuponitatthebottomofaspaciousvalley;fornoothernamecouldfitsuchathing,oranyotherthingfitsuchaname.Itwasasifthepoethadcoinedthephrasefromhavingseenthisoneparticularregion.Itmust,IthoughtasIviewedit,betheoutcomeofafire;butwhyhadnothingnewevergrownoverthosefiveacresofgreydesolationthatsprawledopentotheskylikeagreatspoteatenbyacidinthewoodsandfields?Itlaylargelytothenorthoftheancientroadline,butencroachedalittleontheotherside.Ifeltanoddreluctanceaboutapproaching,anddidsoatlastonlybecausemybusinesstookmethroughandpastit.Therewasnovegetationofanykindonthatbroadexpanse,butonlyafinegreydustorashwhichnowindseemedevertoblowabout.Thetreesnearitweresicklyandstunted,andmanydeadtrunksstoodorlayrottingattherim.AsIwalkedhurriedlybyIsawthetumbledbricksandstonesofanoldchimneyandcellaronmyright,andtheyawningblackmawofanabandonedwellwhosestagnantvapoursplayedstrangetrickswiththehuesofthesunlight.