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The morning breaks, clear and fresh. The sun rises majestically, in all his splendour, high above the fields and valleys, hills and mountains, of that green land. Birds awaken and their cries shrill like so many flutes, clear and beautiful. A breeze, soft and cool, fans the great trees, who wave their magnificent garments to and fro, gently, with barely a rustle. Far off a gentle, swish of waters heralds the waking of the brook, which bubbles and chatters merrily along, leaping and racing, tumbling, and twisting as if in an ecstasy of delight, a sharp contrast to its silent flowing of the night. The leas, cloaked in the silvery array of sparkling dewdrops, stretch away in rolls of splendid green till the brilliant hues of the kings of the land interrupt their path. These kings, the great blue mountains, point their tall fingers skyward, and shimmer and glint in the sun like a great sea. Up above, the deep rolling blue is splashed with fluffy white clouds, chasing and frolicking in the breeze. Out comes the farmer, to start his long day in field and farmyard. Everything comes to life, from the cottage chimney there drifts forth a long spiral of white smoke ascending steadily toward the heavens. Out in the lush green meadows, the animals rejoice in the coming of a new, and fine, day. They wander about, contentedly chewing the grass, at peace with the world. Who wouldn't be, at peace with the world on such a morning. The sun beams down, spreading the warmth of his smile over all the earth, while climbing still higher overhead. In the distance the small village children play in the streets and fields, while the older ones learn their wisdom from the wizened old schoolmaster, who teaches in his small, homely schoolhouse. Midday comes and goes with the chiming of the church bell in the vi1lage, while the work goes on. The ploughing, the corn-cutting, and the hay being stored in the haybarn safe till winter; all continues regardless of time till evening comes. That is the most beautiful time of all. The sun slips gently behind the horizon, while the darkening sky reveals the silvery moon shining down from a canopy of stars, which twinkle like myriads of gems in the evening light. The breeze sighing through the trees, rustles the leaves, and makes the branches of the old oak bend and sway gracefully as if waving farewell to the waning daylight, now a tinge of pink on the western side. The lights in the village and surrounding countryside glitter in the moonlight, while merry fires burn on the hearth within. Outside all is peaceful. The animals no longer wander, but lie quietly amongst the dewdrops, which fall once more as invisible droplets. The brook has ceased its chatter, and now runs quietly along, at rest once more. Another day has passed and now the countryside is resting. |
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