The Forest Giant

Synopsis

For years on end it had been rolling, across the plains, through the deep meadow grasses, under the dim echoing archways of the forest. Always, in heat and cold, beneath blue skies, or skies clouded with rain and hail and snow, it had been rolling ceaselessly. One day it would be gilded by the sunlight—but not softened; another day grizzled streaks of rain soaked it—without refreshment.

It was buried, to all appearances for ever, by drifts of snow—but was not hurt. It had crossed cataracts of light and floods of shadow; it had been rocked by soft winds and hurled dizzily into the air by the shrieking gusts of cyclones; and it had met all these things—the sweetness of the day, the shade of night, the winters, the springs, the summers—with the same submissive, invulnerable apathy. It had waited its hour, ready, if need be, to wait yet much longer.

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