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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
28
How
glad
I
am
I
need
not
hurry.
What
a
waste
of
life,
just
getting
and
spending.
Sitting
by
my
pansy
beds,
with
the
slow
clouds
floating
leisurely
past,
and
all
the
clear
day
before
me,
I
look
on
at
the
hot
scramble
for
the
pennies
of
existence
and
am
lost
in
wonder
at
the
vulgarity
that
pushes,
and
cringes,
and
tramples,
untiring
and
unabashed.
And
when
you
have
got
your
pennies,
what
then?
They
are
only
pennies,
after
all--unpleasant,
battered
copper
things,
without
a
gold
piece
among
them,
and
never
worth
the
degradation
of
self,
and
the
hatred
of
those
below
you
who
have
fewer,
and
the
derision
of
those
above
you
who
have
more.
And
as
I
perceive
I
am
growing
wise,
and
what
is
even
worse,
allegorical,
and
as
these
are
tendencies
to
be
fought
against
as
long
as
possible,
I'll
go
into
the
garden
and
play
with
the
babies,
who
at
this
moment
are
sitting
in
a
row
on
the
buttercups,
singing
what
appear
to
be
selections
from
popular
airs.
June
June
3rd.--The
Man
of
Wrath,
I
observe,
is
laying
traps
for
me
and
being
deep.
He
has
prophesied
that
I
will
find
solitude
intolerable,
and
he
is
naturally
desirous
that
his
prophecy
should
be
fulfilled.
He
knows
that
continuous
rain
depresses
me,
and
he
is
awaiting
a
spell
of
it
to
bring
me
to
a
confession
that
I
was
wrong
after
all,
whereupon
he
will
make
that
remark
so
precious
to
the
married
heart,
"My
dear,
I
told
you
so."
He
begins
the
day
by
tapping
the
barometer,
looking
at
the
sky,
and
shaking
his
head.
If
there
are
any
clouds
he
remarks
that
they
are
coming
up,
and
if
there
are
none
he
says
it
is
too
fine
to
last.
He
has
even
gone
the
length
once
or
twice
of
starting
off
to
the
farm
on
hot,
sunny
mornings
in
his
mackintosh,
in
order
to
impress
on
me
beyond
all
doubt
that
the
weather
is
breaking
up.
He
studiously
keeps
out
of
my
way
all
day,
so
that
I
may
have
every
opportunity
of
being
bored
as
quickly
as
possible,
and
in
the
evenings
he
retires
to
his
den
directly
after
dinner,
muttering
something
about
letters.
When
he
has
finally
disappeared,
I
go
out
to
the
stars
and
laugh
at
his
transparent
wiles.
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