Flowering Earth

Flowering Earth

Flowering Earth

Flowering Earth

Excerpt

There is morning light here, shafting down through the live-oaks in smoky beams. After the night's rain that washed away a six months' summer dust, the little dark leaves gleam and twinkle. Softened, the brilliant sunshine is released by them to the fronds of the tree- ferns that grow below, outstaying their day by geologic ages.

Never so beckoned the green world, or the sky or the sea. A mile or more beyond and below the live- oaks the Pacific glitters, marked near the shore by a purple streak of shadow in its azure, that is giant seaweed anchored there, a floating breakwater from the bottoms.

To the east, toward the breadth of the continent, the mountains rise. I see, beyond the walled garden outside my study window, their arid ranges, where canyons are carven, looking deceptively easy of ascent. The white-limbed sycamores, at least, troop up them, winter-naked now and clearly seen across this western . . .

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