Fear and anxiety are gradually leaving me.
I have been at the village, and for the first time. The houses stand apart, on the mountain meadows. Viewed from above, they almost look like a scattered flock of sheep.
The rushing of the waters and the rustling of the forests sound so strangely at night, and yet the rushing and rustling are unceasing. How vain, how small is the child of man!
Oh, how delightful it is to be awakened by the song of the finch, and to find all nature refreshed by the invigorating morning air!
(April 19th.)--A heavy fog all day. The mist forms a veil which hides nature's death and awakening from view.