onsdag 27. mars 2013


Spring was slow in unfolding. For the last few weeks it had been steadily fine frosty weather. In the daytime it thawed in the sun, but at night there were even seven degrees of frost. There was such a frozen surface on the snow that they drove the wagons anywhere off the roads. Easter came in the snow. Then all of a sudden, on Easter Monday, a warm wind sprang up, storm clouds  swooped down, and for three days and three nights the warm, driving rain fell in streams. On Thursday the wind dropped, and a thick gray fog brooded over the land as though hiding the mysteries of the transformations that were being wrought in nature. Behind the fog there was the flowing of water, the cracking and floating of ice, the swift rush of turbid, foaming torrents; and on the following Monday, in the evening, the fog parted, the storm clouds split up into little curling crest of cloud, the sky cleared, and the real spring had come. In the morning the sun rose brilliant and quickly wore away the thin layer of ice that covered the water, and all the warm air was quivering with the steam that rose up from the quickened earth. The old grass looked greener, and the young grass thrust up its tiny blades; the buds of the guelder-rose and of the current and the sticky birch-buds were swollen with sap, and an exploring bee was humming about the golden blossoms that studded the willow. Larks trilled unseen above the velvety green fields and the ice-covered stubble-land; peewits wailed over the low lands and marshes flooded by the pools; cranes and wild geese flew high across the sky uttering their spring calls. The cattle, bald in patches where the new hair had not grown yet, lowed in the pastures; the bowlegged lambs frisked round their bleating mothers. Nimble children ran about the drying paths, covered with the prints of bare feet. There was a merry chatter of peasant women over their linen at the pond, and the ring of axes in the yard, where the peasants were repairing ploughs and harrows. The real spring had come.

Fra klassikeren Anna Karenina av Leo Tolstoy. 

4 kommentarer:

  1. Åh, vårstemning...

    Kor er sitatet henta frå?

    1. Bra du spør, glemte det helt, skrev TolstoJ og ikke TolstoY i etikken også. Makan.

      Det er fra klassikeren Anna Karenina :-D

  2. Jeg kjenner at jeg savner Anna. Eller, Lev, egentlig. Språket. Så omstendelig, og allikevel så poetisk. Det er nesten så jeg gleder meg til å ta fatt på Krig og Fred.

    1. Jeg har lest 33% av Anna Karenina nå (elsker lesebrett altså som holder tellingen) og så langt liker jeg også Levin men aller best liker jeg Alexey Aleandrovitch av alle karakterene. Rart siden han kan ikke er den karakteren Leo har planlagt leseren skal ha mest sympati med. Kan godt hende det forandrer seg etterhvert som historien fortsetter da. Men Lev, ja: enig!

      Jeg ser ikke mørkt på å lese Krig og fred. Anna Karenina overrasket med SKIKKELIG med å være langt fra så vanskelig å lese som jeg trodde :-O

      Skal du lese Krig og fred på norsk, engelsk eller russisk (!)? :-D Anna Karenina leser jeg på engelsk (tilfeldig), og liker det.



reading, drawing