Excerpt from Traffic, the Story of a Faithful Woman
The sun which had been white with heat all day, was growing deeper and deeper in a tone of orange; and as though some unseen hand were plunging it again into the bowels of a furnace, it sank slowly behind the horizon. Long strands of purplish clouds, rimmed with palest gold, stretched across a sky of primrose, and in the east, great banks of cumulus clouds were lit with cream and pink, like snow-capped mountains lifting their rounded peaks into the unknown. A haze of gold hung about the land in a mist; every tree or bush that rose up before the sun was black. Evening lurked in every shadow, and the last breath of the day was almost drawn.
In the middle of autumn it was late to be driving home the cattle; yet across the fields, their tails swishing lethargically to keep off the stray flies that had followed them, their udders swinging heavily from side to side, like cumbrous bells swaying to an impotent hand, seven cows walked peacefully before a tall girl, whose rounded figure was silhouetted with impressionistic effect against the skyline.
The gait of the animals, their ambling, even motion, brought one a sense of contentment. One felt that they needed the relief of the hands that were to milk them. One inevitably realized that the day was over.
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