This is strange. The sun stands
high in the heavens, and the birds should already be on their way.
But what the animals, on the other hand, observe, is one and another
little dark cloud that comes slowly forward over the plain. And look!
one of these clouds comes gradually along the coast of Oeresund, and up
toward Kullaberg. When the cloud has come just over the playground it
stops, and, simultaneously, the entire cloud begins to ring and chirp,
as if it was made of nothing but tone. It rises and sinks, rises and
sinks, but all the while it rings and chirps. At last the whole cloud
falls down over a knoll--all at once--and the next instant the knoll is
entirely covered with gray larks, pretty red-white-gray bulfinches,
speckled starlings and greenish-yellow titmice.
Soon after that, another cloud comes over the plain. This stops over
every bit of land; over peasant cottage and palace; over towns and
cities; over farms and railway stations; over fishing hamlets and sugar
refineries. Every time it stops, it draws to itself a little whirling
column of gray dust-grains from the ground. In this way it grows and
grows. And at last, when it is all gathered up and heads for Kullaberg,
it is no longer a cloud but a whole mist, which is so big that it throws
a shadow on the ground all the way from Hoeganaes to Moelle.
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