THE CEDARS OF NONSUCH 



branches, but their tops are flattened out and they 

 lean rather heavily to the north and east. Beyond 

 them, farther down the slope, the cedars begin to 

 crouch with humped shoulders, their backs turned 

 toward the blasts, their fingers stretched ahead, 

 dodging one another for light and air, but with 

 stream lines lying in the paths of least resistance. 

 And now we approach the very edge of the low 

 ledge on whose farther side lies death to all beings 

 of land. Yet the phalanx of brave cedars does not 

 falter. All soil has gone, there are only rugged 

 rocks with cracks and crevices for foothold. The 

 branches sweep the ground, bracing themselves here 

 and there with knotty elbows. In size, trunks have 

 become branches, branches twigs, yet all keep their 

 character. Given the slightest shelter of a hollow 

 and a cedar staggers to its knees, a replica of the 

 pines of Fujiyama. 



These cedars on their knees are the most interest- 

 ing of all. They emerge from their natal crack in a 

 great gnarly mass of indeterminate root-stem. Their 

 trunk is in appearance a horizontal branch, con- 

 forming to the angle of the hill, yet clear of it. I 

 rather imagine that the terrific rasping of merely 

 resting upon the rocks would spell destruction 

 within a few gales' time. It would seem as if the 

 eternal blasting power of the wind fairly blows the 

 sap of life out of the windward branches, for most 

 of these are dead, with occasional spurts of green 

 springing from the heart of the straggling, bleached, 

 branch bones, the skeleton of long-past years. Some- 



23 



