The Crossing

[A]s I mounted the slopes of the mountains my spirits rose too at the prospect of the life before me. The woods were all aflame with color, with wine and amber and gold, and the hills wore the misty mantle of shadowy blue so dear to my youthful memory. As I left the rude taverns of a morning and jogged along the heights, I watched the vapors rise and roll away from the valleys far beneath, and saw great flocks of ducks and swans and cackling geese darkening the air in their southward flight...