Friday, June 15, 2007
THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS by Kenneth Grahame
THE RIVER BANK
(PEN & INK on Bristol, PS)
THE Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of white wash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his bush on the floor, said 'Bother!'