I am reading "Too Late the Phalarope" and I wanted to share a passage:
. . . And if the homestead could not be seen, for the farms are rich and large in the grass country, he would say where it lay, and what trees grew there, and that there was a girl there, lovely and true, who would make a good wife for a young constable, and might one day bring him riches, so that he could give up the Police, and round in the sun and air. And what was better than that, for in the rain you could hear the plovers calling, and the piet-my-vrou would cry from the kloof, which was like a hand suddenly plucking at the strings of the heart, so that your whole being shook and trembled; and why and why, why no one knew, it was the nature of man and of creation, that some sound, long remembered from the days of innocence before the world's corruption, could open the door of the soul, flooding it with a sudden knowledge of the sadness and terror and beauty of man's home and the earth. But you could not keep such knowledge, you could not hold it in your hand like a flower or a book, for it came and went like the wind; and the door of the soul would not stay open, for maybe it was too great joy and sorrow for a man, and meant only for angels. Yet you could ride again in the rain, in the piet-my-vrou's season, and he would call again, and catch you by the throat and make you tremble. (55)
I thought this was beautiful writing and I wanted to share.