11 June 2010

endorphinjunkie(z7bAlabama)June 11, 2010

Presently we saw a curious thing: There were no clouds, the sun was going down in a limpid, gold-washed sky. Just as the lower edge of the red disc rested on the high fields against the horizon, a great black figure suddenly appeared on the face of the sun. We sprang to our feet, straining our eyes toward it. In a moment we realized what it was. On some upland farm, a plough had been left standing in the field. The sun was sinking just behind it. Magnified across the distance by the horizontal light, it stood out against the sun, was exactly contained within the circle of the disk; the handles, the tongue, the shareÂblack against the molten red. There it was, heroic in size, a picture writing on the sun. Even while we whispered about it, our vision disappeared; the ball dropped and dropped until the red tip went beneath the earth. The fields below us were dark, the sky was growing pale, and that forgotten plough had sunk back to its own littleness somewhere on the prairie.

Willa Cather

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sweet_betsy No AL Z7(7)

What a word picture Willa painted!

    Bookmark   June 11, 2010 at 7:08AM
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No matter where you are, you can see what she wants you to see. I just love her writing.

    Bookmark   June 11, 2010 at 9:27AM
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One can bathe in her writing, it's that fresh and pure.
Thank you, Michael!

    Bookmark   June 11, 2010 at 10:29AM
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It's time to read something by Willa Cather, again. Her writing is timeless.

    Bookmark   June 11, 2010 at 1:48PM
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gandle(4 NE)

My favorite author. Always loved that passage.

    Bookmark   June 11, 2010 at 10:33PM
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