The first iron night.
At nine the sun sets. A dull darkness settles over the earth, a star or
so can be seen; two hours later there is a glow of the moon. I wander
up in the woods with my gun and my dog. I light a fire, and the light of
the flames shines in between the fir-trunks. There is no frost.
“The first iron night!” I say. And a confused, passionate delight in the
time and the place sends a strange shiver through me...
“Hail, men and beasts and birds, to the lonely night in the woods, in
the woods! Hail to the darkness and God's murmuring between the trees,
to the sweet, simple melody of silence in my ears, to green leaves and
yellow! Hail to the life-sound I hear; a snout against the grass, a dog
sniffing over the ground! A wild hail to the wildcat lying crouched,
sighting and ready to spring on a sparrow in the dark, in the dark! Hail
to the merciful silence upon earth, to the stars and the half moon; ay,
to them and to it!” ...