Yes, it _is_ greatness.
X
THE MOWING
"Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with
the earth."
This is a well earned Sunday morning. My chores were all done long ago,
and I am sitting down here after a late and leisurely breakfast with
that luxurious feeling of irresponsible restfulness and comfort which
comes only upon a clean, still Sunday morning like this--after a week of
hard work--a clean Sunday morning, with clean clothes, and a clean chin,
and clean thoughts, and the June airs stirring the clean white curtains
at my windows. From across the hills I can hear very faintly the drowsy
sounds of early church bells, never indeed to be heard here except on a
morning of surpassing tranquillity. And in the barnyard back of the
house Harriet's hens are cackling triumphantly: they are impiously
unobservant of the Sabbath day.
I turned out my mare for a run in the pasture. She has rolled herself
again and again in the warm earth and shaken herself after each roll
with an equine delight most pleasant to see. Now, from time to time, I
can hear her gossipy whickerings as she calls across the fields to my
neighbour Horace's young bay colts.
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