Saturday, May 15, 2010

Saturday, May 15, 1920

We wake to find the same soft mist enveloping the mountains. It rained in the night. We are off early for Inter-Laken. A wonderful trip through Brunig Pass to our destination. Snow-capped mountains, with beautiful flowers and blooming trees at the base. After lunch we climbed the mountains, but we have no words to describe the scenery. Some one says -

“There is something of poetry born in us each,

Tho’ in many, perhaps, it is born without speech.”

One of the painful thoughts that comes to me so often, is, that I will never, never, be able, by tongue or pen, to give to my friends the beauties that have been ours to enjoy.

A thunder storm and heavy rain caught us in the mountains, but we had umbrellas. Coming down, we saw a mother (with children under a tree) who had been gathering fagots for fuel, and these she had bound together with a rope and the bundle was so large on her back, we could hardly see her.

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