A gander drowns itself in our dam. We take it out, and open it on the bank, and kneel,
looking at it. Above are the organs divided by delicate tissues; below are the intestines
artistically curved in a spiral form, and each tier covered by a delicate network of
blood-vessels standing out red against the faint blue background. Each branch of the
blood-vessels is comprised of a trunk, bifurcating and rebifurcating into the
most delicate, hair-like threads, symmetrically arranged. We are struck with its
singular beauty. And, moreover - and here we drop from our kneeling into a sitting
posture - this also we remark: of that same exact shape and outline is our thorn-tree seen
against the sky in mid-winter; of that shape also is delicate metallic tracery between
our rocks; in that exact path does our water flow when without a furrow we lead it
from the dam; so shaped are the antlers of the horned beetle. How are these things
related that such a deep union should exist between them all? Is it chance? Or,
are they not all the fine branches of one trunk, whose sap flows through us all?
That would explain it. We nod over the gander's inside. |
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