VII
The lake water was salt, but there was a spring among the hills, and
when the hawks were resting (they rested every second day) Owen
liked to go there and lie under the tamarisks, dreaming of Sicily,
of "the visionary flocks" and their shepherds no less visionary,
comparing the ideal with the real, for before him flocks grazed up
the hillside and his eyes followed the goats straying in quest of
branches, their horns tipped with the wonderful light which threw
everything into relief--the bournous of the passing bedouin, the
woman's veil, whether blue or grey, the queer architecture of the
camels and dromedaries coming up through a fold in the hills from
the lake, following the track of the caravans, their long, bird-like
necks swinging, looking, Owen thought, like a great flock of
migrating ostriches.
It was pleasant to lie and dream this pastoral country and its
people, seen through a haze of fine weather which looked as if it
would never end. The swallows had just come over and were tired;
Owen was provoking enough to drive them out of the tamarisks just to
see how tired they were, and was sorry for one poor bird which could
hardly keep out of his way.
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