I thrust away my azalia-boughs, and fling back the shattered blinds, as
the sun and the clouds meet, and my room darkens with the coming
shadows. For an instant the edges of the thick, creamy masses of cloud
are gilded by the shrouded sun, and show gorgeous scallops of gold,
that toss upon the hem of the storm. But the blazonry fades as the
clouds mount; and the brightening lines of the lightning dart up from
the lower skirts, and heave the billowy masses into the middle heaven.
The workmen are urging their oxen fast across the meadow, and the
loiterers come straggling after with rakes upon their shoulders. The
matronly hen has retreated to the stable-door; and the brood of turkeys
stand dressing their feathers under the open shed.
The air freshens, and blows now from the face of the coming clouds. I
see the great elms in the plain swaying their tops, even before the
storm-breeze has reached me; and a bit of ripened grain upon a swell of
the meadow waves and tosses like a billowy sea.
Presently I hear the rush of the wind; and the cherry-and pear-trees
rustle through all their leaves; and my paper is whisked away by the
intruding blast.
There is a quiet of a moment, in which the wind even seems weary and
faint, and nothing finds utterance save one hoarse tree-toad, doling out
his lugubrious notes.
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