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At first, as you know, the sky is incidental--a drape, a backdrop for the trees and steeples.Here an oak clutches a rock (already he works outdoors),a wall buckles but does not break,water pearls through a lock, a haywain trembles.The pleasures of landscape are endless. What we seearound us should be enough.Horizons are typically high and far away.Still, clouds let us drift and remember. He is, after all,a miller's son, used to tryingto read the future in the sky, seeing insteadships, hornes, instruments of flight.Is that his mother's wash flapping on the line?His schoolbook, smudged, illegible?In this period, the sky becomes significant.Cloud forms are technically correct--mares' tailssheep-in-the-meadow, thunderheads.You can almost tell which scenes have been interruptedby summer showers.How his young wife dies.His landscapes achieve belated success.
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