Flower of the Dusk

The pines, darkly purple, towered against the sunset. Behind the hills, the splendidtapestry glowed and flamed, sending far messages of light to the grey East, where lay thesea, crooning itself to sleep. Bare boughs dripped rain upon the sodden earth, where thedead leaves had so long been hidden by the snow. The thousand sounds and scents ofSpring at last had waked the world. The man who stood near the edge of the cliff, quite alone, and carefully feeling theground before him with his cane, had chosen to face the valley and dream of the glory that, perchance, trailed down in living light from some vast loom of God's. His massive head was..