Life is like burning rose hawaiian shirt

A long time a short time later, when the open-nibbling days were finished, and the red grass had been furrowed under and under until it had nearly vanished from the grassland; when all the fields were under fence, and the streets no longer ran about like wild things, yet followed the studied area lines, Mr. Shimerda’s grave was still there, with a listing wire fence around it, and an unpainted wooden cross. As granddad had anticipated, Mrs. Shimerda never saw the streets passing him by. The street from the north bended a little toward the east there, and the street from the west swung out a little toward the south; so the grave, with its tall red grass that was never cut, resembled a little island; and at nightfall, under another moon or the unmistakable night star, the dusty streets used to appear as though delicate dark streams streaming past it. I never happened upon the spot without feeling, and altogether that country it was the spot generally dear to me. I adored the faint notion, the propitiatory purpose, that had put the grave there; and even more I cherished the soul that couldn’t do the sentence- – the blunder from the studied lines, the mercy of the delicate earth streets along which the home-coming carts shook after nightfall. Never a drained driver passed the wooden cross, I am certain, without wishing admirably to the sleeper. Life is like burning rose hawaiian shirt.  WHEN SPRING CAME, AFTER that hard winter, one couldn’t get enough of the agile air. Each day I aroused with a new cognizance that colder time of year was finished. There were none of the indications of spring for which I used to watch in Virginia, no growing woods or blossoming gardens. There was just – spring itself; its pulse, the light eagerness, the crucial embodiment of it all over the place: in the sky, in the quick mists, in the pale daylight, and in the warm, high wind- – rising unexpectedly, sinking out of nowhere, indiscreet and perky like a major doggy that pawed you and afterward set down to be petted. In the event that I had been thrown down blindfold on that red grassland, I ought to have realized that it was spring.

Wherever now there was the smell of consuming grass. Our neighbors consumed off their field before the new grass made a beginning, so the new development would not be blended in with the dead remain of a year ago. Those light, quick flames, running about the nation, appeared to be a piece of a similar fuel that was noticeable all around. The Shimerdas were in their new log house by at that point. The neighbors had assisted them with building it in March. It stood straightforwardly before their old cavern, which they utilized as a basement. The family were currently genuinely prepared to start their battle with the dirt. They had four agreeable rooms to live in, another windmill- – purchased using a loan – a chicken-house and poultry. Mrs. Shimerda had paid granddad ten dollars for a milk cow, and was to give him fifteen more when they reaped their first yield.