and good: then I could go fishing, and live on fish. I would borrow her
father's boat and row out in that. No, indeed, I did no go out shooting
for the lust of killing things, but only to live in the woods. It was a
good place for me; I could lie down on the ground at meals, instead of
sitting upright on a chair; I did not upset my glass there. In the woods
I could do as I pleased; I could lie down flat on my back and close my
eyes if I pleased, and I could say whatever I liked to say. Often one
might feel a wish to say something, to speak aloud, and in the woods it
sounded like speech from the very heart...

When I asked her if she understood all this, she said, "Yes."

And I went on, and told her more, because her eyes were on me. "If you
only knew all that I see out in the wilds!" I said. "In winter, I come
walking along, and see, perhaps, the tracks of ptarmigan in the snow.
Suddenly the track disappears; the bird has taken wing. But from the
marks of the wings I can see which way the game has flown, and before
long I have tracked it down again. There is always a touch of newness in
that for me. In autumn, many a time there are shooting stars to watch.
Then I think to myself, being all alone, What was that? A world seized
with convulsions all of a sudden? A world going all to pieces before my
eyes? To think that I--that _I_ should be granted the sight of shooting
stars in my life! And when summer comes, then perhaps there may be a
little living creature on every leaf; I can see that some of them have
no wings; they can make no great way in the world, but must live and die
on that one little leaf where they came into the world.

"Then sometimes I see the blue flies. But it all seems such a little
thing to talk about--I don't know if you understand?"