The thousand arms of the forest were grey, and its million fingers silver. In a sky of dark green-blue-like slate the stars were bleak and brilliant like splintered ice. All that thickly wooded and sparsely tenanted countryside was stiff with a bitter and brittle frost. The black hollows between the trunks of the trees looked like bottomless, black caverns of that Scandinavian hell, a hell of incalculable cold. Even the square stone tower of the church looked northern to the point of heathenry, as if it were some barbaric tower among the sea rocks of Iceland. It was a queer night for anyone to explore a churchyard. But, on the other hand, perhaps it was worth exploring.
--Chesterton, "The Sign of the Broken Sword," in The Innocence of Father Brown
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments are always welcome, unless you are going to be mean, in which case you can go straight to hell.
Please leave at least some form of name so I don't get all paranoid and think you are a stalker or my mother.