Вітер у вербах
The Wild Wood
It’salongway,andhewouldn’tbeathomeatthistimeofyearanyhow,andhe’llbecomingalongsomeday,ifyou’llwaitquietly."
TheMolehadtobecontentwiththis.ButtheBadgernevercamealong,andeverydaybroughtitsamusements,anditwasnottillsummerwaslongover,andcoldandfrostandmirywayskeptthemmuchindoors,andtheswollenriverracedpastoutsidetheirwindowswithaspeedthatmockedatboatingofanysortorkind,thathefoundhisthoughtsdwellingagainwithmuchpersistenceonthesolitarygreyBadger,wholivedhisownlifebyhimself,inhisholeinthemiddleoftheWildWood.
InthewintertimetheRatsleptagreatdeal,retiringearlyandrisinglate.Duringhisshortdayhesometimesscribbledpoetryordidothersmalldomesticjobsaboutthehouse;and,ofcourse,therewerealwaysanimalsdroppinginforachat,andconsequentlytherewasagooddealofstory-tellingandcomparingnotesonthepastsummerandallitsdoings.
Sucharichchapterithadbeen,whenonecametolookbackonitall!Withillustrationssonumerousandsoveryhighly-coloured!Thepageantoftheriverbankhadmarchedsteadilyalong,unfoldingitselfinscene-picturesthatsucceededeachotherinstatelyprocession.Purpleloosestrifearrivedearly,shakingluxurianttangledlocksalongtheedgeofthemirrorwhenceitsownfacelaughedbackatit.Willow-herb,tenderandwistful,likeapinksunsetcloud,wasnotslowtofollow.
