In their variety they are
soft and shimmering on the tree branches, a slightly ruddy gray on
the branchlets, and a serener gray on the tree trunks. Overhead, even
when a storm is gathering in the sky, there are the colors of the
moonstone tinting into silver, and shading into pearl and blue. On the
ground are delicate wood-colors,--umbers, siennas, greens toned down to
gray. The atmosphere, from its lack of sunlight, only sets off the more
visibly beautiful forms of trees and branches.
No, the day is not moody: we are. We are not in harmony with her, but
have arrayed our-selves against her. "When we are at one with Nature
we have great peace; when fretted and unmindful of her presence, we
are irritated, and out of our true element." In our megrims we have
found something whose defenceless condition we think ought to bear
the burden of our misery.
Well for you the weather affords a chance for an excuse; for a moody
girl on a bright June morning, when all Nature is radiant with beauty,
is the veriest parody on life,--worse than that, a sad mockery.
If you are very sensitive, do not censure yourselves too severely,
nor foster distrust; for the latter is worse for you than self-conceit.
Be sure to make the _blues_ as dangerous as possible; be always mindful
of their direful attacks.
Some one asks me, just here, if she is never to feel serious? Of course
she is to have very thoughtful hours! The merely gay, happy-go-lucky
kind of a girl is not the most helpful, nor the most valuable.
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