It was not so, however, in the upper reaches
of the atmosphere. It was a night of skies, of shifting,
ever changing skies. Not for five minutes did an aspect
last. When I looked up, after maybe having devoted my
attention for a while to a turn in the road or to a drift,
there was no trace left of the picture which I had seen
last. And you could not help it, the sky would draw your
eye. There was commotion up there--operations were
proceeding on a very vast scale, but so silently, with
not a whisper of wind, that I felt hushed myself.
A few of the aspects have persisted in my memory, but it
seems an impossible task to sketch them.
I was driving along through open fields. The trail led
dimly ahead. Huge masses of snow with sharp, immovable
shadows flanked it. The horses were very wide awake. They
cocked their ears at every one of the mounds; and sometimes
they pressed rump against rump, as if to reassure each
other by their mutual touch.
About halfway up from the northern horizon there lay a
belt of faintest luminosity in the atmosphere--no play
of northern lights--just an impalpable paling of the dark
blue sky.
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