Ruts

 

 

To the right the summer dawn wakes the leaves and the mists and the

noises in this corner of the park, and the left-hand banks hold in their

violet shadows the thousant swift ruts of the wet road. Wonderland

procession! Yes, truly: floats covered with animals of gilded wood, poles

and bright bunting, to the furious gallop of twenty dappled circus

horses, and children and men on their most fantastic beasts;-- twenty

rotund vehicles, decorated with flags and flowers like the coaches of old

or in fairy tales, full of children all dressed up for a suburban

pastorale. Even coffins under their somber canopies lifting aloft their

jet-black plumes, bowling along to the trot of huge mares, blue and black.