noon
A man can show off like that when he is going far ; but I am not . I have no errand anywhere , and nothing calls me ; I am only a wanderer setting forth from a hut , and coming back to it again ; it does not matter where I am . It is quiet and empty in the woods ; all things deep in snow , holding their breath as I come . At noon , looking back from a hill , I can see Trovatn far behind ; white and flat it lies , a stretch of chalk , a desert of snow . After a meal I go on again , higher and higher , nearing the fjeld now , but slowly and thoughtfully , with hands in my pockets . There is no hurry ; I have only to find a shelter for the night . Later on in the afternoon I sit down again to eat , as if I needed a meal and had earned it .