Sotte bosse essence of life rar4/27/2023 ![]() ![]() When the nuts are ripe the tree will let them fall and think no more about them. I see the young burrs, no bigger than the end of my little finger. The wind has long ago blown away some of its branches, but it does not mind. Anything that can stand still and grow, filling its allotted place and contented to fill it, is enough to put our futile human restlessness to the blush. There is no feeling proud in such company. Many a time I have gone out of my way to see it, as I would have gone to see some remembered landscape by a great painter. How often I have stopped to admire it, summer and winter, especially in late afternoon, when the level sunlight gives it a beauty beyond the reach of words. This venerable chestnut tree, with its deeply furrowed, shadow-haunted, lichen-covered bark of soft, lovely grays and grayish greens, is as stately and handsome as ever. So my good genius whispered to me just now and here I am. 34-41 (at 34-35):Īfter running hither and thither in search of beauty or novelty, try a turn in the nearest wood. ![]() Bradford Torrey (1843-1912), "A Quiet Afternoon," The Clerk of the Woods (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1903), pp. ![]()
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