I have come far, led by my dreams and visions.
Tagore.
The moon was shining down upon an endless expanse of snow—as far as the eye could reach, snow, snow, white and dazzling, strewn with a million glittering diamonds.
It had ceased snowing; the storm was over; but the wind still blew in biting blasts, forcing the wanderer to draw his cloak more closely around him, and to bend his head, as he slowly advanced over that everlasting desert of white.
He walked and walked; there was no end to this frozen snow-field over which his feet had made a narrow little path that alone disturbed the shroud-like surface. And always longer and longer it grew, zigzagging beneath the quiet face of the moon.
From time to time the wind blew snowflakes against him, and they beat in his face like a thousand pins, obliging him to shut his eyes not to be blinded.
Each flake had another shape; there were stars and crosses, moss-like flowers and strangely shaped butterflies, all dancing in mad circles around the lonely wayfarer.
Some kept their beautiful shape even when fallen to the ground, and the moon would light them up like precious jewels out of a queenly casket.
The young man was the only living thing in this wilderness of ice and snow.