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122

(1921) Author: Sigrid Undset
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ancient cities and the slowly advancing spring — in spite of all
that can be said of the tumultuous life of the south — make
one’s own life run with a calmer, healthier beat, that meets the
coming of spring with greater equanimity than here, where it
comes in such mighty waves.

Oh, Helge! She longed to be out there with him. It was
so far away, and so long since it all happened. Not quite a
week, yet it seemed almost a dream, as if she had never been
away at all. But she had been there — not here to see and feel
how the white, frosty, peaceful winter yielded and the dry,
strong, light blue air, drenched with mist in the middle of the
day, hung quivering over the ground. Every outline was
blurred or broken, but the colours were vivid and sharp —
naked, as it were — until evening came, when everything froze
under a sky of pale green, everlasting light.

— You dear boy of mine — what are you doing now? I
miss you so, and I want to be with you. I can scarcely believe
that you are mine, and I can’t bear to be alone, longing for you,
all this bright, long spring. —

As the train proceeded on its way the scenery changed.
Strips of snow showed among the trees and along the fences;
the soft, shaded brown of the faded meadows and the ploughed
fields met the eye, and the intense blue of the sky toned down
near the horizon. The undulating line of the forest-clad
mountain slopes lay far away; the branches of detached groups of
trees in the fields gave the effect of lattice-work against the sky.
The old grey houses of the farms shone like silver, and the new
barns were glowing red. The pine needles formed an olive
green background for the purple buds of the beeches and the
light green of the aspens.

Such is spring: glowing colours that last a little while, then
everything turns a golden green, swelling with the sap of life,
and ripens in a few weeks into full summer — spring, when no
joy is great enough. Evening fell, the last long red sunrays

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