A YARD OF JUNGLE 253 



of scrutiny brought me any closer to the real 

 intimacies of evolution? Or — evading these 

 questions for the time — was there nothing I 

 could do in the few precious moments left? 



In five minutes I should turn my back on 

 all this wildness, this jungle seething with pro- 

 found truths, and great solutions within arm's 

 reach. I should pass to the ocean where monot- 

 ony compels introspection, and finally to the 

 great center of civilization where the veneer cov- 

 ers up all truths. 



Even if my studies had taught only the les- 

 son of the tremendous insurgence of life, could 

 I not emphasize this, make it a more com- 

 pelling factor to be considered in future efforts 

 toward the frog's question and mine? 



My eyes left the foliage overhead and sought 

 the ground. Acting on impulse, I brought from 

 my camping stores an empty war-bag, and 

 scraped together an armful of leaves, sticks, 

 moss, earth, mold of all sorts. Four square 

 feet of jungle debris went into my bag, and I 

 shouldered it. 



Then I said adieu to my trail and my tree — a 

 sorrowful leave-taking, as is always my misfor- 

 tune. For the bonds which bind me to a place 



