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I seem to recall best a journey we made by tram one winter night.
We were going to visit my Granny at Westoe, and I was very excited, because
an evening excursion was something quite unheard of for me. It had been raining;
the gas lamps lit the gleaming pavements and cobbles with a doubled radiance.
The shaking tram wires were sending down showers of white raindrops. Everything
in the ram seemed fresh and glittering. The breezy windows sparkled with long
zigzags of rain and the passing street lamp flared gorgeously through the panels
of blue and yellow and ruby glass. Outside, it was cold and windy, and we could
feel the gale buffeting against the side of the tram, making it sway and lurch
ore than usual, and throwing the passengers of song, and the fresh, clean, cold
sea-wind was blowing right through the upper deck. Above, a high half-moon
seemed to be skidding along on its back through piles of black, white-lined
rags. It was a wild night, with a sense of magic in the offing. The people in
the tram did not like ordinary mortals; a kind of
exhilaratinggaietyhadseizedthem,anditseseememed to lighten their bodies and
illuminate their faces. At times I was sure we were really flying. |
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发表于 2016-7-29 16:24:52