Волны

           Steamersthuddingslowlyovertheseawerecaughtinthelevelstareofthesun,anditbeatthroughtheyellowawningsuponpassengerswhodozedorpacedthedeck,shadingtheireyestolookfortheland,whiledayafterday,compressedinitsoilythrobbingsides,theshipborethemonmonotonouslyoverthewaters.

           Thesunbeatonthecrowdedpinnaclesofsouthernhillsandglaredintodeep,stonyriverbedswherethewaterwasshrunkbeneaththehighslungbridgesothatwasherwomenkneelingonhotstonescouldscarcelywettheirlinen;andleanmuleswentpickingtheirwayamongthechatteringgreystoneswithpanniersslungacrosstheirnarrowshoulders.Atmiddaytheheatofthesunmadethehillsgreyasifshavedandsingedinanexplosion,while,furthernorth,incloudierandrainiercountrieshillssmoothedintoslabsaswiththebackofaspadehadalightinthemasifawarder,deepwithin,wentfromchambertochambercarryingagreenlamp.Throughatomsofgrey-blueairthesunstruckatEnglishfieldsandlitupmarshesandpools,awhitegullonastake,theslowsailofshadowsoverblunt-headedwoodsandyoungcornandflowinghayfields.Itbeatontheorchardwall,andeverypitandgrainofthebrickwassilverpointed,purple,fieryasifsofttotouch,asiftoucheditmustmeltintohot-bakedgrainsofdust.Thecurrantshungagainstthewallinripplesandcascadesofpolishedred;plumsswelledouttheirleaves,andallthebladesofthegrasswereruntogetherinonefluentgreenblaze.Thetrees’shadowwassunktoadarkpoolattheroot.