1 There was a shimmer of gold on the brown river.
2 Probably by that time I had crossed so many rivers that I was dull to them.
3 That river was to be my compensation for the lost freedom of the farming country.
4 But Charley Harling and I had a strong belief that he had been along this very river.
5 The river was running strong for midsummer; heavy rains to the west of us had kept it full.
6 For the first time it occurred to me that I should be homesick for that river after I left it.
7 But by March the ice was rough and choppy, and the snow on the river bluffs was grey and mournful-looking.
8 Our own house looked down over the town, and from our upstairs windows we could see the winding line of the river bluffs, two miles south of us.
9 Through January and February I went to the river with the Harlings on clear nights, and we skated up to the big island and made bonfires on the frozen sand.
10 Below us we could see the windings of the river, and Black Hawk, grouped among its trees, and, beyond, the rolling country, swelling gently until it met the sky.
11 To the south I could see the dun-shaded river bluffs that used to look so big to me, and all about stretched drying cornfields, of the pale-gold colour, I remembered so well.
12 Charley Harling and I had hunted through these woods, fished from the fallen logs, until I knew every inch of the river shores and had a friendly feeling for every bar and shallow.
13 Jim,' she said earnestly, 'if I was put down there in the middle of the night, I could find my way all over that little town; and along the river to the next town, where my grandmother lived.
14 They reached Circle City on the very day when some Siwash Indians came into the settlement with the report that there had been a rich gold strike farther up the river, on a certain Klondike Creek.
My Antonia By Willa CatherContextHighlight In BOOK 4. The Pioneer Woman's Story: I 15 Morning after morning I used to pace up and down my sunny little room, looking off at the distant river bluffs and the roll of the blond pastures between, scanning the 'Aeneid' aloud and committing long passages to memory.
16 The road from the north curved a little to the east just there, and the road from the west swung out a little to the south; so that the grave, with its tall red grass that was never mowed, was like a little island; and at twilight, under a new moon or the clear evening star, the dusty roads used to look like soft grey rivers flowing past it.