one march evening in my sophomore year i was sitting alone in my room after supper. there had been a warm thaw all day, with mushy yards and little streams of dark water gurgling cheerfully into the streets out of old snow-banks. my window was open, and the earthy wind blowing through made me indolent. on the edge of the prairie, where the sun had gone down, the sky was turquoise blue, like a lake, with gold light throbbing in it. higher up, in the utter clarity of the western slope, the evening star hung like a lamp suspended by silver chains – like the lamp engraved upon the title-page of old latin texts, which is always appearing in new heavens, and waking new desires in men.
words: willa cather | my ántonia pg. 158