100 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
to live the life of a root, resting quietly among 
them, watching and feeling them, and moving 
very slowly, with no thought of time, as roots 
must. 
I liked to wait until the last ripple had lapped 
against the sand beneath, and then slip quietly, 
in from the margin of the jungle and perch— 
like a great tree-frog—on some convenient shelf, 
Seumas and Brigid would have enjoyed it, in 
spite of the fact that the Leprechauns seemed 
to have just gone. I found myself usually in 
a little room, walled with high-arched, thin sheets 
of living roots, some of which would form solid 
planks three feet wide and twelve long, and only. 
an inch or two in thickness. These were always 
on edge, and might be smooth and sheer, or sud- 
denly sprout five stubby, mittened fingers, or 
pairs of curved and galloping legs—and this 
thought gave substance to the simile which had 
occurred again and again: these trees reminded 
me of centaurs with proud, upright man torsos, 
and great curved backs. In one, a root dropped 
down and rested on the back, as a centaur who 
turns might rest his hand on his withers. 
When I chanced upon an easy perch, and a 
stray idea came to mind, I squatted or sat or 
