Bucolic

Bucolique

Then very gently the earth grows a mane, swivels while maneuvering its well-oiled octopus head, turns over in its brain a quite visible idea concerning circumvolutions, then hurls itself at top speed, carrying away in a sinister flight of rocks and meteors, the river, the horses, the horsemen, and the houses.

And as the silver in the chests blackens, as the water in the fish ponds swells, as the tombstones are unsealed, as the bucolic in the hollow installs a sea of mud that nonchalantly smokes the best maccaboy of the century, gigantic lights flash in the distance and, under their black mushroom helmets, observe a hill, good russet shepherd, which with a phosphorescent bamboo pushes into the sea a tall herd of shuddering temples and cities.