THE RIVER FLOODS 269 



furrows like some huge lava-table. The blue Coast 

 Eange was seen stretching along the sky like a 

 beveled wall, and the somber, craggy Marysville 

 Buttes rose impressively out of the flooded plain 

 like islands out of the sea. Then the rain began to 

 abate and I sauntered down through the dripping 

 bushes reveling in the universal vigor and fresh 

 ness that inspired all the life about me. How 

 clean and unworn and immortal the woods seemed 

 to be! the lofty cedars in full bloom laden with 

 golden pollen and their washed plumes shining; 

 the pines rocking gently and settling back into 

 rest, and the evening sunbeams spangling on the 

 broad leaves of the madronos, their tracery of 

 yellow boughs relieved against dusky thickets of 

 Chestnut Oak ; liverworts, lycopodiums, ferns were 

 exulting in glorious revival, and every moss that 

 had ever lived seemed to be coming crowding back 

 from the dead to clothe each trunk and stone in 

 living green. The steaming ground seemed fairly 

 to throb and tingle with life; smilax, fritillaria, 

 saxifrage, and young violets were pushing up as if 

 already conscious of the summer glory, and in 

 numerable green and yellow buds were peeping 

 and smiling everywhere. 



As for the birds and squirrels, not a wing or tail 

 of them was to be seen while the storm was blow 

 ing. Squirrels dislike wet weather more than cats 

 do; therefore they were at home rocking in their dry 

 nests. The birds were hiding in the dells out of 

 the wind, some of the strongest of them pecking 

 at acorns and manzanita berries, but most were 

 perched on low twigs, their breast feathers puffed 



