Chapter 5

           OnafrostymorningwithalittleFebruarysun,CliffordandConniewentforawalkacrosstheparktothewood.Thatis,Cliffordchuffedinhismotor-chair,andConniewalkedbesidehim.

           Thehardairwasstillsulphurous,buttheywerebothusedtoit.Roundthenearhorizonwentthehaze,opalescentwithfrostandsmoke,andonthetoplaythesmallbluesky;sothatitwaslikebeinginsideanenclosure,alwaysinside.Lifealwaysadreamorafrenzy,insideanenclosure.

           Thesheepcoughedintherough,seregrassofthepark,wherefrostlaybluishinthesocketsofthetufts.Acrosstheparkranapathtothewood-gate,afineribbonofpink.Cliffordhadhaditnewlygravelledwithsiftedgravelfromthepit-bank.Whentherockandrefuseoftheunderworldhadburnedandgivenoffitssulphur,itturnedbrightpink,shrimp-colouredondrydays,darker,crab-colouredonwet.Nowitwaspaleshrimp-colour,withabluish-whitehoaroffrost.ItalwayspleasedConnie,thisunderfootofsifted,brightpink.It’sanillwindthatbringsnobodygood.

           Cliffordsteeredcautiouslydowntheslopeoftheknollfromthehall,andConniekeptherhandonthechair.Infrontlaythewood,thehazelthicketnearest,thepurplishdensityofoaksbeyond.Fromthewood’sedgerabbitsbobbedandnibbled.Rookssuddenlyroseinablacktrain,andwenttrailingoffoverthelittlesky.

           Connieopenedthewood-gate,andCliffordpuffedslowlythroughintothebroadridingthatranupaninclinebetweentheclean-whippedthicketsofthehazel.