The red cattle, flaked with white, spotted the clear fresh green of the meadows.

The bare trees had a kind of glory about them, like old men waiting for their youth, which might come suddenly.

A few slow clouds were drifting across the pale sky.

A gentle wind was blowing over the wet fields, but when a cloud swept before the sun, it blew cold.

The roads were bad, but their horses were used to such, and picked their way with the easy carefulness of experience.