Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           ItpassedbeyondthelimitsoftheSeedranch,andenteredtheshadeatthefootofthehillbelowhim.Woulditcomefartherthanthis?Hereithadalwaysstoppedhitherto,stoppedforamoment,andthen,inspiteofhisefforts,hadslippedfromhisgraspandfadedbackintothenight.Butnowhewonderedifhehadbeenwillingtoputforthhisutmoststrength,afterall.Hadtherenotalwaysbeenanelementofdreadinthethoughtofbeholdingthemysteryfacetoface?HadhenotevenallowedtheVisiontodissolve,theAnswertorecedeintotheobscuritywhenceitcame?

           Butneveranighthadbeensobeautifulasthis.Itwasthefullperiodofthespring.Theairwasaveritablecaress.Theinfinitereposeofthelittlegarden,sleepingunderthenight,wasdeliciousbeyondexpression.Itwasatinycorneroftheworld,shutoff,discreet,distillingromance,agardenofdreams,ofenchantments.

           Below,inthelittlevalley,theresplendentcolourationsofthemillionflowers,roses,lilies,hyacinths,carnations,violets,glowedlikeincandescenceinthegoldenlightoftherisingmoon.Theairwasthickwiththeperfume,heavywithit,cloggedwithit.Thesweetnessfilledtheverymouth.Thethroatchokedwithit.Overheadwheeledtheillimitableprocessionoftheconstellations.Underfoot,theearthwasasleep.Theveryflowersweredreaming.Acathedralhushoverlayalltheland,andasenseofbenedictionbroodedlow,—adivinekindlinessmanifestingitselfinbeauty,inpeace,inabsoluterepose.

           Itwasatimeforvisions.