Think now first and foremost of the sea! Far out it lies desolate and
empty and big, and has nothing else to do but to roll its gray billows.
When it comes toward the land, it happens across the first obstacle.
This it immediately overpowers; tears away everything green, and makes
it as gray as itself. Then it meets still another obstacle. With this it
does the same thing. And still another. Yes, the same thing happens to
this also. It is stripped and plundered, as if it had fallen into
robbers' hands. Then the obstacles come nearer and nearer together, and
then the sea must understand that the land sends toward it her littlest
children, in order to move it to pity. It also becomes more friendly the
farther in it comes; rolls its waves less high; moderates its storms;
lets the green things stay in cracks and crevices; separates itself into
small sounds and inlets, and becomes at last so harmless in the land,
that little boats dare venture out on it. It certainly cannot recognise
itself--so mild and friendly has it grown.
And then think of the hillside! It lies uniform, and looks the same
almost everywhere. It consists of flat grain-fields, with one and
another birch-grove between them; or else of long stretches of forest
ranges. It appears as if it had thought about nothing but grain and
turnips and potatoes and spruce and pine.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152