I remember several
places where a perfect circle was formed by a sharp
crestline that bounded an hemispherical, crater-like
hollow. When steam bubbles up through thick porridge, in
its leisurely and impeded way, and the bubble bursts with
a clucking sound, then for a moment a crater is formed
just like these circular holes; only here in the snow
they were on a much larger scale, of course, some of them
six to ten feet in diameter.
And again the snow was thrown up into a bulwark, twenty
and more feet high, with that always repeating cliff face
to the south, resembling a miniature Gibraltar, with many
smaller ones of most curiously similar form on its back:
bulwarks upon bulwarks, all lowering to the south. In
these the aggressive nature of storm-flung. snow was most
apparent. They were formidable structures; formidable
and intimidating, more through the suggestiveness of
their shape than through mere size.
I came to places where the wind had had its moments of
frolicksome humour, where it had made grim fun of its
own massive and cumbersome and yet so pliable and elastic
majesty. It had turned around and around, running with
breathless speed, with its tongue lolling out, as it
were, and probably yapping and snapping in mocking mimicry
of a pup trying to catch its tail; and it had scooped
out a spiral trough with overhanging rim.
Pages:
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142