Behind, there rose
the spires and towers; before, only the reeds, green now, and
soft in their rustlings and whisperings for the future. False
reeds! They tell themselves of their happiness to be, and it all
ends in dry stalks and drizzling skies. The mocking-bird in the
fragrant orange grove sends out his night song, and blends it
with the cricket's chirp, as the blossoms of orange and magnolia
mingle their perfume with the earthy smell of a summer rain just
blown over. Perfect in its stillness, absolute in its beauty,
tenderly healing in its suggestion of peace, the night in its
clear-lighted, cloudless sweetness enfolds Athanasia, as she
stands on the levee and gazes down at the old log, now almost
hidden in the luxuriant grass.
"It was the eternal feminine that spoiled our dream that day as
it spoiled the after life, was it not?"
But the Bayou St. John did not answer. It merely gathered into
its silent bosom another broken-hearted romance, and flowed
dispassionately on its way.
WHEN THE BAYOU OVERFLOWS
When the sun goes down behind the great oaks along the Bayou
Teche near Franklin, it throws red needles of light into the dark
woods, and leaves a great glow on the still bayou. Ma'am Mouton
paused at her gate and cast a contemplative look at the red sky.
"Hit will rain to-morrow, sho'. I mus' git in my t'ings."
Ma'am Mouton's remark must have been addressed to herself or to
the lean dog, for no one else was visible.
Pages:
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61