segunda-feira, 23 de agosto de 2010

Honeysuckle sweetened the deepening hedges from beyond which breathed distances cool with hay. The land had not yet composed itself quite to sleep, for light was not gone and might never go from the sky. The air through which she was swiftly passing was mauve, and tense with suspended dew: her own beautiful restlessness was everywhere.
A World of Love, Elizabeth Bowen