third romance | action & audio
[The gentle snow has put Anne in a home-sick mind. She is carefully packing up what few belongings she has collected and is in the process of moving to live with Miss Jacky. Although she believes Kida's offers were very sweet and well-intentioned, it simply would not do to live apart from the other young woman whose story resonated so with her own.
Well put-together and with her hair plaited in one long braid, Anne makes the journey across the village. As she does so, she sings:]
♫ A sighing wind brings heavy snow, as every good wood-cutter knows!
It fills the road, it blocks the door. It lays and stays and waits for more.
The Jeffery boys are strong and lean, the best--[she hesitates!]--darn workers you've ever seen.
They'll cut more wood than a horse can haul! Near six cords before night fall. ♪
[She swings her carpet bag from one arm and props her journal open with her free hand. She desperately wants others to hear her song; after all, what good is imagining that you are still under the spell of an experiment without sharing this imaginative claim with the rest of the village? She had heard others doomed to sing and she had been simply green with envy over their sweet chords. So, if anyone dares question her on it? She will claim experimentation although she knows the two weeks have wound down.]
♫ We'll get up at the break of day and hitch the morgan to the sleigh.
And as we work, we'll sing a rhyme -- to raise the dead of winter time!
Deep in the woods, our fuel is born. It meets the axe to keep us warm.
We'll trim the branches, pile them high and leave them for the wind to dry. ♪
[There is a bounce in her step and a twinkle in her eye. She looks hardly plausible and far too captivated by the experience.]
♫ Yellow birch and spruce so red and juniper to bake good bread.
Hard maple when the flame's in doubt and cedar if the coals die out. ♪
Well put-together and with her hair plaited in one long braid, Anne makes the journey across the village. As she does so, she sings:]
♫ A sighing wind brings heavy snow, as every good wood-cutter knows!
It fills the road, it blocks the door. It lays and stays and waits for more.
The Jeffery boys are strong and lean, the best--[she hesitates!]--darn workers you've ever seen.
They'll cut more wood than a horse can haul! Near six cords before night fall. ♪
[She swings her carpet bag from one arm and props her journal open with her free hand. She desperately wants others to hear her song; after all, what good is imagining that you are still under the spell of an experiment without sharing this imaginative claim with the rest of the village? She had heard others doomed to sing and she had been simply green with envy over their sweet chords. So, if anyone dares question her on it? She will claim experimentation although she knows the two weeks have wound down.]
♫ We'll get up at the break of day and hitch the morgan to the sleigh.
And as we work, we'll sing a rhyme -- to raise the dead of winter time!
Deep in the woods, our fuel is born. It meets the axe to keep us warm.
We'll trim the branches, pile them high and leave them for the wind to dry. ♪
[There is a bounce in her step and a twinkle in her eye. She looks hardly plausible and far too captivated by the experience.]
♫ Yellow birch and spruce so red and juniper to bake good bread.
Hard maple when the flame's in doubt and cedar if the coals die out. ♪