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The banks were for the most part low, although it was impossible to say what height they were because of the lofty hedges of creeping plants which covered every inch of ground from the water's edge to as high as fifty feet above in some places, while behind them towered the black-green forest with here and there bunches of brilliant flowers or glimpses of countless grey trunks.
This avenue was in the middle of the island, and looking through the climbing bow of branches I saw Maiauo, the lofty needles of rock which rise black-green from the mountain plateau and form a tiara, Le Diademe, of the French. A quarter of an hour's stroll brought us to a natural basin into which the stream fell.
The whole family worked long hours, and worked hard; but nobody complained. No rain fell of any consequence until the latter part of July; and then there was no danger of the river overflowing and drowning out the corn. And that corn! By the last of July it was waist high, growing rank and strong, and of that black-green color which delights the farmer's eye. Mr.
On the other is the long brick wall of the garden soggy, begrimed, streaked with moss and lichen in bands of black-green and yellow ochre, over which mass and sway the great sycamores that Ziem loved, their lower branches interwoven with cinnobar cedars gleaming in spots where the prying sun drips gold.
Within this circle, at the base of the various groups, are black-green palms, scattered in little forests, casting shades on the now white, now light red, and now purple mountain sides, as if to set off the perspective of The Desert picture. Here and there are garden-huts or lodges in the wilderness, so many black spots within little squares of pale-green patches of corn cultivation.
Stretching away to the west and north, winding in and out among the feet of the now isolated mound- like mountains, was that never to be mistaken black-green forest swamp of mangrove; doubtless the fringe of the River Rembwe, which evidently comes much further inland than the mangrove belt on the Ogowe.
By daylight there is neither glamour nor beauty in the great burying-ground of North London; you must go to it at evening, in the first fall of the summer dusk, to feel the fascination of that labyrinth of low graves, crosses and headstones, urns and sarcophagi, crowded in the black-green of the grass; of marble columns, granite pyramids and obelisks, massed and reared and piled in the grey of the air.
The two were hauling in supplies for Conroy's Camp, on Little Ottanoonsis Lake. Silently, but for the clank and creak of the harness, and the soft "thut, thut" of the trodden snow, the little procession toiled on through the soundless desolation. Between the trees naked birches and scattered, black-green firs filtered the lonely, yellowish-violet light of the fading winter afternoon.
Black-green foliage, the curious old-green of trees that never wither and never resurrect. Something very foreign or is it San Francisco? Cubist effects of the horizontally-lined cypress, vertical lines of the eucalyptus, and the soft, down-dropping of the willow trees and pepper. Women on the benches tatting, reading, resting. A retired Kansan widower passes, glances sidewise.
The magnificent view from the head of a trail where Edd started down impressed me so powerfully that I lagged behind. Below me heaved a split, tossed, dimpled, waving, rolling world of black-green forestland. Far across it stood up a rugged, blue, waved range of mountains the Sierra Anchas. The trail was rough, even for Arizonians, which made it for me little short of impassable.
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