THE LITTLE TOWN OF THE GRAPE VINES 



which shortens to Las Uvas for common 

 use, the land dips away to the river pas- 

 tures and the tulares. It shrouds under 

 a twilight thicket of vines, under a dome of 

 cottonwood-trees, drowsy and murmurous 

 as a hive. Hereabouts are some strips of 

 tillage and the headgates that dam up the 

 creek for the village weirs ; upstream you 

 catch the growl of the arrastra. Wild vines 

 that begin among the willows lap over to 

 the orchard rows, take the trellis and roof- 

 tree. 



There is another town above Las Uvas 

 that merits some attention, a town of arches 

 and airy crofts, full of linnets, blackbirds, 

 fruit birds, small sharp hawks, and mock- 

 ingbirds that sing by night. They pour 

 out piercing, unendurably sweet cavatinas 

 above the fragrance of bloom and musky 

 smell of fruit. Singing is in fact the busi- 

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