Saturday, May 14


Such were Arkady's reflections;... but even as he reflected, the spring regained its sway. All around was golden green, all -- trees, bushes, grass -- shone and stirred gently in wide waves under the soft breath of the warm wind; from all sides flooded the endless trilling music of the larks; the peewits were calling as they hovered over the low-lying meadows, or noiselessly ran over the tussocks of grass; the rooks strutted among the half-grown short spring-corn standing out black against its tender green; they disappeared in the already whitening rye, only from time to time their heads peeped out amid its grey waves. Arkady gazed and gazed, and his reflections grew slowly fainter and passed away .... He flung off his coat and turned to his father, with a face so bright and boyish, that the latter gave him another hug.

-- Ivan Turgenev Fathers and Sons
Translated by Constance Garnett