Mars (Planet) -- Fiction; Martians -- Fiction; Science fiction
And well might I stare! Everything in that forest was wonderful!
There were plants which turned from colour to colour with the varying
hours of the day. While others had a growth so swift it was dangerous
to sit in their neighbourhood since the long, succulent tendrils
clambering from the parent stem would weave you into a helpless tangle
while you gazed, fascinated, upon them. There were plants that climbed
and walked; sighing plants who called the winged things of the air to
them with a noise so like to a girl sobbing that again and again I
stopped in the tangled path to listen. There were green bladder-mosses
which swam about the surface of the still pools like gigantic
frog-broods. There were on the ridges warrior trees burning in the
vindictiveness of a long forgotten cause--a blaze of crimson scimitar
thorns from root to topmost twig; and down again in the cool hollows
were lady-bushes making twilight of the green gloom with their cloudy
ivory blossoms and filling the shadows with such a heavy scent that
head and heart reeled with fatal pleasure as one pushed aside their
branches. Every river-bed was full of mighty reeds, whose stems
clattered together when the wind blew like swords on shields, and every
now and then a bit of forest was woven together with the ropey stems of
giant creepers till no man or beast could have passed save for the
paths which constant use had kept open through the mazes.
All day long I wandered on through those wonderful woodlands, and in
fact loitered so much over their infinite marvels that when sundown
came all too soon there was still undulating forest everywhere, vistas
of fairy glades on every hand, peopled with incredible things and
echoing with sounds that excited the ears as much as other things
fascinated the eyes, but no sign of the sea or my fishing village
anywhere.
It did not matter; a little of the Martian leisureliness was getting
into my blood: "If not today, why then tomorrow," as An would have
said; and with this for comfort I selected a warm, sandy hollow under
the roots of a big tree, made my brief arrangements for the night, ate
some honey cakes, and was soon sleeping blissfully.
I woke early next morning, after many hours of interrupted dreams, and
having nothing to do till the white haze had lifted and made it
possible to start again, rested idly a time on my elbow and watched the
sunshine filter into the recesses.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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