She never tried to
understand them, nor did she talk about them; but then, she never tried
to paint the sky or copy the robin's song. Life was very mysterious;
but one thing was quite as mysterious as another. She did sometimes
brood for a moment over the troubled sense that, in some fashion, she
spoke in another key from "other folks," who did not appear to know
that joy is not altogether joy, but three-quarters pain, and who had
never learned how it brings its own aching sense of incompleteness; but
that only seemed to her a part of the general wonder of things. There
had been one strange May morning in her life when she went with her
husband into the woods, to hunt up a wild steer. She knew every foot of
the place, and yet one turn of the path brought them into the heart of
a picture thrillingly new with the unfamiliarity of pure and living
beauty. The evergreens enfolded them in a palpable dusk; but
entrancingly near, shimmering under a sunny gleam, stood a company of
birches in their first spring wear. They were trembling, not so much
under the breeze as from the hurrying rhythm of the year. Their green
was vivid enough to lave the vision in light; and Letty looked beyond
it to a brighter vista still.
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