And this time, with a “Thank you, kindly!”
he touched his horse’s flank with the whip.
Like a thing aroused from sleep the forgotten creature
started and began to draw the cabman away from us.
Very slowly they travelled down the road among the
shadows of the trees broken by lamplight. Above
us, white ships of cloud were sailing rapidly across
the dark river of sky on the wind which smelled of
change. And, after the cab was lost to sight,
that wind still brought to us the dying sound of the
slow wheels. 1910.
RIDING IN MIST
Wet and hot, having her winter coat, the mare exactly
matched the drenched fox-coloured beech-leaf drifts.
As was her wont on such misty days, she danced along
with head held high, her neck a little arched, her
ears pricked, pretending that things were not what
they seemed, and now and then vigorously trying to
leave me planted on the air. Stones which had
rolled out of the lane banks were her especial goblins,
for one such had maltreated her nerves before she
came into this ball-room world, and she had not forgotten.
There was no wind that day. On the beech-trees
were still just enough of coppery leaves to look like
fires lighted high-up to air the eeriness; but most
of the twigs, pearled with water, were patterned very
naked against universal grey. Berries were few,
except the pink spindle one, so far the most beautiful,
of which there were more than Earth generally vouchsafes.
There was no sound in the deep lanes, none of that
sweet, overhead sighing of yesterday at the same hour,
but there was a quality of silence—a dumb
mist murmuration. We passed a tree with a proud
pigeon sitting on its top spire, quite too heavy for
the twig delicacy below; undisturbed by the mare’s
hoofs or the creaking of saddle leather, he let us
pass, absorbed in his world of tranquil turtledoves.
The mist had thickened to a white, infinitesimal
rain-dust, and in it the trees began to look strange,
as though they had lost one another. The world
seemed inhabited only by quick, soundless wraiths as
one trotted past.
Close to a farm-house the mare stood still with that
extreme suddenness peculiar to her at times, and four
black pigs scuttled by and at once became white air.
By now we were both hot and inclined to cling closely
together and take liberties with each other; I telling
her about her nature, name, and appearance, together
with comments on her manners; and she giving forth
that sterterous, sweet snuffle, which begins under
the star on her forehead. On such days she did
not sneeze, reserving those expressions of her joy
for sunny days and the crisp winds. At a forking
of the ways we came suddenly on one grey and three
brown ponies, who shied round and flung away in front
of us, a vision of pretty heads and haunches tangled
in the thin lane, till, conscious that they were beyond
their beat, they faced the bank and, one by one, scrambled
over to join the other ghosts out on the dim common.
Copyrights
The Complete Essays of John Galsworthy from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.