landscape piece

''west of arkham the hills rise wild and there are valleys with deep woods that no axe has ever cut. there are dark narrow glens where the trees slope fantastically, and where thin brooklets trickle without ever having caught the glint of sunlight. on the the gentler slopes there are farms, ancient and rocky, with squat, moss-coated cottages brooding eternally over old new-england secrets in the lee of great ledges; but these are all vacant now, the wide chimneys crumbling and the shingled sides bulging perilously beneath low gambrel roofs. ...

''in the open spaces, mostly along the line of the old road, there were little hillside farms; sometimes with all the buildings standing, sometimes with only one or two, and sometimes with only a lone chimney or fast-filling cellar. weeds and briers reigned, and furtive wild things rustled in the undergrowth. upon everything was a haze of restlessness and oppression; a touch of the unreal, and the grotesque, as if some vital element of perspective or chiaroscuro were awry... it was too much like a landscape of salvator rosa; too much like some forbidden woodcut in a tale of horror.''

h.p.lovecraft, the colour out of space.