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1
137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
45
I
know
these
gales.
We
get
them
quite
suddenly,
always
from
the
north-
west,
and
always
cold.
They
ruin
my
garden
for
a
day
or
two,
and
in
the
summer
try
my
temper,
and
at
all
seasons
try
my
skin;
yet
they
are
precious
because
of
the
beautiful
clear
light
they
bring,
the
intensity
of
cold
blue
in
the
sky
and
the
terrific
purple
blackness
of
the
clouds
one
hour
and
their
divine
whiteness
the
next.
They
fly
screaming
over
the
plain
as
though
ten
thousand
devils
with
whips
were
after
them,
and
in
the
sunny
intervals
there
is
nothing
in
any
of
nature's
moods
to
equal
the
clear
sharpness
of
the
atmosphere,
all
the
mellowness
and
indistinctness
beaten
out
of
it,
and
every
leaf
and
twig
glistening
coldly
bright.
It
is
not
becoming,
a
north-westerly
gale;
it
treats
us
as
it
treats
the
garden,
but
with
opposite
results,
roughly
rubbing
the
softness
out
of
our
faces,
as
I
can
see
when
I
look
at
the
babies,
and
avoid
the
further
proof
of
my
own
reflection
in
the
glass.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
