Far, far apart from this loud marsh music is that of the many species
of hyla, a sort of soothing immortal melody filling the air like
light.
We reveled in the glory of the sky scenery as well as that of the
woods and meadows and rushy, lily-bordered lakes. The great
thunderstorms in particular interested us, so unlike any seen in
Scotland, exciting awful, wondering admiration. Gazing awe-stricken,
we watched the upbuilding of the sublime cloud-mountains,--glowing,
sun-beaten pearl and alabaster cumuli, glorious in beauty and majesty
and looking so firm and lasting that birds, we thought, might build
their nests amid their downy bosses; the black-browed storm-clouds
marching in awful grandeur across the landscape, trailing broad gray
sheets of hail and rain like vast cataracts, and ever and anon
flashing down vivid zigzag lightning followed by terrible crashing
thunder. We saw several trees shattered, and one of them, a punky old
oak, was set on fire, while we wondered why all the trees and
everybody and everything did not share the same fate, for oftentimes
the whole sky blazed.
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