The land becomes a wide green billiard table on which tiny human insects toil up and down.Īll through his boyhood and young manhood George Willard had been in the habit of walking on Trunion Pike. In the spring when the land is green the effect is somewhat different. To look across it is like looking out across the sea.

In the late afternoon in the hot summers when the road and the fields are covered with dust, a smoky haze lies over the great flat basin of land. In the fields are planted berries and small fruits. The fields are owned by farmers who live in town and drive homeward at evening along Trunion Pike in light creaking wagons. The east was pink with the dawn and long streaks of light climbed into the sky where a few stars still shone.īeyond the last house on Trunion Pike in Winesburg there is a great stretch of open fields. George crept past the cot and went out into the silent deserted main street. His mouth was open and he snored lustily. The boy who slept in the hotel office lay on a cot by the door. Since two o'clock he had been awake thinking of the journey he was about to take and wondering what he would find at the end of his journey. George came downstairs into the hotel office carrying a brown leather bag. When the wind blows they whirl crazily about, filling the air and making a carpet underfoot. The trees along the residence streets in Winesburg are maple and the seeds are winged. It was April and the young tree leaves were just coming out of their buds. YOUNG GEORGE WILLARD got out of bed at four in the morning.

Sherwood anderson winesburg