Hawthorne Summer Reading

24 Hawthorne Fine Art W hen spring came, after that hard winter, one could not get enough of the nimble air. Everymorning I wakenedwith a fresh consciousness that winter was over. There were none of the signs of spring for which I used to watch in Virginia, no budding woods or blooming gardens. There was only—spring itself; the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere: in the sky, in the swift clouds, in the pale sunshine, and in the warm, high wind—rising suddenly, sinking suddenly, impulsive and playful like a big puppy that pawed you and then lay down to be petted. If I had been tossed down blindfold on that red prairie, I should have known that it was spring. Everywhere now there was the smell of burning grass. Our neighbours burned off their pasture before the new grass made a start, so that the fresh growth would not be mixed with the dead stand of last year. Those light, swift fires, running about the country, seemed a part of the same kindling that was in the air. ” —W i l l a C athe r , My Ántonia, 1918 5 G e or g e I nne s s (1825–1894) Landscape, Montclair, NJ, 1867 Oil on canvas mounted to board, 10 x 16 inches Signed and dated 1867, lower right “