Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - The Zather Dale.
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chaotically mingled; manure and farming
implements, staves and straw. The poultry sat
there washed to shadows, or at least like stuck-up
hens’ skins with feathers on, and even the
ducks crept close up to the wet wall, sated with
the wet. The stable-man was cross, the girl
still more so; it was difficult to get them to
bestir themselves: the steps were crooked, the
floor sloping and but just washed, sand strewn
thickly on it, and the air was damp and cold.
But without, scarcely twenty paces from the
inn, on the other side of the road, lay the
celebrated valley, a garden made by nature
herself, and whose charm consists of trees and
bushes, wells and purling brooks.
It was a long hollow; I saw the tops of the
trees looming up, and the rain drew its thick
veil over it. The whole of that long evening
did I sit and look upon it during that shower
of showers. It was as if the Venern, the
Vettern and a few more lakes ran through an
immense sieve from the clouds. I had ordered
something to eat and drink, but I got nothing.
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