Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1906-01-09
A GLIMPSE OF Already.
Being Jack London's Pen Picture Of
Canon in the Sierras.

Geinq JACK London'S zen Picture or
Canon in the Sierras.
1t was the green heart of the canon,
where the walls swerved back frola
the rigid plan and relieved their
harshness OF lire by making little
sheltered nook aud filing it to uR9
brim with sweetness and roundness
and softness. Here all things rested.
Even the narrow stream ceased its
turbulent down-rush long enough to
form a quiet pool Knee-deep in the
water, with dropping head and half
shut eyes, drowsed a relocated,
many-antlered buck.
On one side, beginning at the very
lip of the pool, was tiny meadow,
cool, resilient surface of green that
extended to the base of the frowning
wall. Across the pool a gentle slope
OF earth ran up and up TO meet
the opposing wall Fine grass COW
cred the slope-grass that wc.s
spangled with flowers, with here and
there patches of color, orange and
purple and golden. Below the canon
was shut in. There was no view. The
walls leaned together abruptly and
the canon ended in chaos of rocks,
moss-covered and hidden by a green
screen of vines and creepers and
boughs of trees. Up the canon rose
far hills and peaks. the big foothills,
pine-covered and remote. And far Le-
yond, like clouds upon the border of
the sky, lowered minarets of white,
where the Sierra's eternal SHOWS
finished austerely the blazes of the
sun.
There was no dust in the canon.
The leaves and flowers were clean
and virginia.. The grass was young
velvet. Over the pool three cotton
woods sent their snowy tufts fiut-
tering down the quiet air On the
slope the blossoms of the wine
wooded manzanita filled the air with
springtime odors, while the leaves,
wise with experience, were already
beginning their vertical twist against
the coming aridity OF summer In
the open spaces on the slope, beyond
the farthest shadow-reach of the
manZanita, poised the mariposa lilies,
like so many flights of ieweled moths
suddenly arrested and on the verge OF
trembling into flight again. Here ard
there that woods harlequin, the ma
drone, permitting itself to be caught
in the act of changing its pea-green
trunk to madden red, breathed its fra
GRANGE into the air from great clus-
tiers of waxen bells. Creamy white
were these bells, shaped like lilies of
the valley, with the sweetness of per-
fume that is of the springtime.
There was not a sigh of wind. The
air was drowsy with its weight OF.
perfume It was a sweetness that
would have been cloying had the air
been heavy and humid. But the Ear
was sharp and thin. 1t was as star
light transmitted into atmosphere,
shot through and warmed by sun
shine, and fiower-drenched with
sweetness.
An occasional butterfly drifted in
and out through the patches of light
and shade. And from over all rose
the low and sleepy hum of mountain
bees-feasting Sybarites that jostled
one another good-naturedly at the
board, nor found time for rough dis
courtesy. quietly did the little
stream drip and ripple its way
through the canon that it spoke only
in faint and occasional gurgles. The
voice of the stream was as drowsy
whisper, ever interrupted by dozings
and silsncas, ever lifted again in the
awakeninss.
The motion of all things was a
drifting in the heart of the canon
Sunshine and butterflies drifted in and
out among the trees. The hum of the
bees and the whisper of the stream
were a drifting of sound. And the
drifting sound and drifting color
seemed to weave together in the
making of a delicate and intangible
fabric which was the spirit of the
place. 1t was a spirit of peace that
was not of death, but of smooth
pulsing life, of quietude that was not
silence, of movement that was not &C
ton, of repose that was quick with
existence without being violent with
strugg and travail The spirit OF
the place was the spirit of the peace
of the living, somnolent with the
easement and content of prosperity,
and undisturbed by rumors OF far
wars.-From Jack London's "All Gold
Canon in the Century.