I saw myself, in dream, a youth, almost a boy, in a low-pitched wooden
church. The slim wax candles gleamed, spots of red, before the old pictures
of the saints.
A ring of coloured light encircled each tiny flame. Dark and dim it was
in the church.... But there stood before me many people. All fair-haired,
peasant heads. From time to time they began swaying, falling, rising
again, like the ripe ears of wheat, when the wind of summer passes in slow
undulation over them.
All at once some man came up from behind and stood beside me.