All at once a man rose from somewhere and stood, a dark splotch, against the brooding heat of the sky. The man was a shepherd! Then I understood the meaning of that weirdly palpitating line—it was his flock of sheep!
Stifled by the overwhelming temperature, they had massed themselves together, heads turned inwards, seeking shelter one from the other. Finding no relief, they were panting out their silent distress.
The "cioban" stood quite still, staring at me with stupefied indifference.
I think that never before and never since have I had an acuter sensation of intolerable heat....
Wherever I have met them, be it on the mountains or in the plains, on green pastures or on arid wastes, these silent shepherds have seemed to me the very personification of solitude, of mystery, of things unsaid.
Because of their lonely vigils amongst voiceless wilds, they have surely returned to a nearer comprehension of nature; perchance they have discovered strange secrets that none of us know!
In autumn and early spring the shepherds lead their flocks back from the mountains. One meets them trudging slowly along the high-roads—a silent mass with a weather-beaten leader at their head, man and beast the colour of dust; foot-sore, weary, passive, knowing that their way is not yet at an end.
