Хвилі

           Themeatisstoodintheoven;thebreadrisesinasoftdomeunderthecleantowel.Iwalkintheafternoondowntotheriver.Alltheworldisbreeding.Thefliesaregoingfromgrasstograss.Theflowersarethickwithpollen.Theswansridethestreaminorder.Theclouds,warmnow,sun-spotted,sweepoverthehills,leavinggoldinthewater,andgoldonthenecksoftheswans.Pushingonefootbeforetheother,thecowsmunchtheirwayacrossthefield.Ifeelthroughthegrassforthewhite-domedmushroom;andbreakitsstalkandpickthepurpleorchidthatgrowsbesideitandlaytheorchidbythemushroomwiththeearthatitsroot,andsohometomakethekettleboilformyfatheramongthejustreddenedrosesonthetea-table.

           ’Buteveningcomesandthelampsarelit.Andwheneveningcomesandthelampsarelittheymakeayellowfireintheivy.Isitwithmysewingbythetable.IthinkofJinny;ofRhoda;andheartherattleofwheelsonthepavementasthefarmhorsesplodhome;Iheartrafficroaringintheeveningwind.Ilookatthequiveringleavesinthedarkgardenandthink"TheydanceinLondon.JinnykissesLouis".’

           ’Howstrange,’saidJinny,’thatpeopleshouldsleep,thatpeopleshouldputoutthelightsandgoupstairs.Theyhavetakenofftheirdresses,theyhaveputonwhitenightgowns.Therearenolightsinanyofthesehouses.Thereisalineofchimney-potsagainstthesky;andastreetlamportwoburning,aslampsburnwhennobodyneedsthem.Theonlypeopleinthestreetsarepoorpeoplehurrying.Thereisnoonecomingorgoinginthisstreet;thedayisover.