Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction
Again they were in fairyland. Yellow as a topaz set in turquoise the
sun stood free in the heavens. Inhabitants of the fearless morning
went busily about their tasks. Clear as a mirror, through the perfumed
stillness of meadows the river ran. Mists curled from ofif its surface
and hung white in tree-tops. Within hand-stretch fish leapt; peering
over the side of the punt, they could follow their retreat through
waving weeds and black willow-stumps. Only a magpie noticed their
passage and became interested, fluttering from bough to bough and asking
them, “What d'you want? What d'you want?” Dragon-flies ventured forth
as the sun's heat strengthened; butterflies and the teeming insect world
rose out of water-lilies and foxgloves--out of the destructible homes
which Nature builds for their brief and perishable existence. He and
she, drifting through the golden quiet with clasped hands, seized their
moment unquestioningly, and were thankful for it.
Ahead they saw swans; then cattle wading knee-deep. Rounding a bend,
they came in sight of a trellised garden, with green tables set out on
a close-cut lawn. Boats swung idly in the stream, tethered to a landing.
In the background was a thatched house, from whose chimney smoke waved
back in a thin plume. When they came near enough they made out a white
post, with a sign swinging from it. On the sign was depicted a brown
bird, fluttering its wings in a golden cage; painted over it were the
words, _The Winged Thrush._ In lifting their eyes to read the sign they
caught sight of the faint moon, weakly smiling, as though saying, “I've
got to go. They won't let me stay. Goodbye, and good luck.”
They landed, leaving their foolish disguises in the punt. Through the
dew-drenched wistfulness of summer roses they approached the inn, and
entered. The room was strewn with sawdust, and stale with the smell
of beer and tobacco. An ostler-like person, with a full-blown face and
little blue pig's eyes, met them. They asked for breakfast. He knew his
business well enough to suggest that missie would prefer to have it in
an arbor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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