Transcription:
6. broken pieces of snow and ice. The domes perfect in polish and sculpture gleam in new-born purity, lakes and domes reflecting
each other, bright as the ice which made them. God's seasons circle on. Glad brooks born of the snow and rain sing among
the shining rocks, and bring sand to the naked lakes and now in this fullness of time comes many a chosen plant, first a lowly
carex with dark brown spikes, then taller sedges and rushes fixing a soil. Now grasses flock to the growing meadows now warmer
and dryer back from the water's rim, and many a daisy and blooming shrub, until lake and meadow-rings, growing throughout
their season days like flowers in summer, develope to the beauty of today. How softly comes night to the mountains. Shadows
grow upon all the landscape, only the highest peaks of the Hoffman group are bathed in yellow light. Down in this hollow it
is twilight, and my two domes, more impressive than in full day, seem to approach me. They are not vast and over-spiritual
like Yosemite Tissiack, but comprehensible and companionable and capable of human affinities. The darkness grows and all of
their finer sculpture is dim. Now the grand curves and arches fade also, and the whole structure massed in black rises upon
the sky. I have set fire to two pine logs and the neighboring trees are coming to the charmed circle of light. The two-leaved
pine with sprays and tassels innumerable, the silver fir with magnificent fronded whorls of shining branches, startlingly
distinct, and the graceful nodding spruce dripping with cones, seeming still more spiritual in this campfire light.