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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
63
The
Man
of
Wrath
says
all
women
love
churchyards.
He
is
fond
of
sweeping
assertions,
and
is
sometimes
curiously
feminine
in
his
tendency
to
infer
a
general
principle
from
a
particular
instance.
The
deserted
little
forest
burying-grounds
interest
and
touch
me
because
they
are
so
solitary,
and
humble,
and
neglected,
and
forgotten,
and
because
so
many
long
years
have
passed
since
tears
were
shed
over
the
newly
made
graves.
Nobody
cries
now
for
the
husband,
or
father,
or
brother
buried
there;
years
and
years
ago
the
last
tear
that
would
ever
be
shed
for
them
was
dried--dried
probably
before
the
gate
was
reached
on
the
way
home--and
they
were
not
missed.
Love
and
sorrow
appear
to
be
flowers
of
civilisation,
and
most
to
flourish
where
life
has
the
broadest
margin
of
leisure
and
abundance.
The
primary
instincts
are
always
there,
and
must
first
be
satisfied;
and
if
to
obtain
the
means
of
satisfying
them
you
have
to
work
from
morning
till
night
without
rest,
who
shall
find
time
and
energy
to
sit
down
and
lament?
I
often
go
with
the
babies
to
the
enclosure
near
the
Frau
Inspector's
pond,
and
it
seems
just
as
natural
that
they
should
play
there
as
that
the
white
butterflies
should
chase
each
other
undisturbed
across
the
shadows.
And
then
the
place
has
a
soothing
influence
on
them,
and
they
sober
down
as
we
approach
it,
and
on
hot
afternoons
sit
quietly
enough
as
close
to
the
pond
as
they
may,
content
to
watch
for
the
chance
appearance
of
a
frog
while
talking
to
me
about
angels.
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