Journal entry - corrections please... Native speakers only, please Six years have passed. The last days of a luxurious August welcomed my return to my native valley. My heart was filled with patriotic love. It was now the last day of my journey, and I was enjoying the most fragrant summer morning. The sky was a pale shade of blue: to the east and above the towering mountain ridges, golden little clouds roamed like the gauze of a dancer's turban scattered by a loving breath. To the south floated the mists that during the night had embraced the distant mountains. I was crossing flatlands of green grass, watered by streams whose passage was obstructed by beautiful herds, leaving at this time, their shaded shelters to go into the marshes or under paths vaulted by flowered lush fig trees. My eyes had eagerly looked at those sites half hidden to travelers by the tops of old bamboos; and those cottages where I had left people that were virtuous and friends. At such times the arias from the piano of Una would not have touched my heart. The perfumes that I was breathing were so pleasant compared with her luxurious dresses... The songs of those nameless birds had such sweet harmonies to my heart!