Explore "A Commentary" by John Galsworthy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In Kensington Gardens, that February day, it was very still. Trees, stripped of every leaf, raised their bare clean twigs towards a sky so grey and so unstirring that there might never have been wind or sun. And on those branches pigeons sat, silent, as though they understood that there was no new life as yet; they seemed waiting, loth to spread their wings lest they should miss the coming of the Spring.
Down in the grass the tiniest green flames were burning, a sign of the fire of flowers that would leap up if the sun would feed them.