Our Daily Bread (Classic Reprint)by Clara Viebig
Behind the sandy hill the sun is rising. High up the pines are bathed in red light; every needle of the rugged branches is sharply defined against the glowing, morning sky. A keen wind blows, and flutters the grey-white moss hanging from the old trunks, and looking like ragged beards. Shifting lights pass over the scanty grass, which
Excerpt from Our Daily Bread
Behind the sandy hill the sun is rising. High up the pines are bathed in red light; every needle of the rugged branches is sharply defined against the glowing, morning sky. A keen wind blows, and flutters the grey-white moss hanging from the old trunks, and looking like ragged beards. Shifting lights pass over the scanty grass, which hardly covers the knotted roots; golden rays dart here and there, become longer and longer, their light warmer and warmer.
Down below, in the endless distance of the fields, the dawn is still cold and grey. Steaming mists rise out of the hollows and trail their white webs over the ploughed lands till they break against the blue wall of the distant wood and disperse.
The whitewashed gables of the cottages in the village street look ghostly, only the high walls of the church show a warmer light. The wind shakes the chestnut-trees at the church gate, so that a shower of damp, yellow leaves rains down, an acrid autumnal smell rises from the falling foliage.
A flock of ducks swims in the pool in the street; noiselessly, slowly, as if asleep, one follows the other, drawing a lighter ray after it in the dark water. Now the drake shoots bolt upright, beats the water with its wings, scattering the drops far around, and the whole flock breaks out into a loud gabble.
On Barthel Heinze's dung-heap the cock gives a loud cocka-doodledoo, the roof-trees of the low, thatched roofs are glowing. Mother Heinze pushes back the shutters; it is light in the room. The day has come.
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