oaks of Bonaventure. (The level-topped cypress swamps, the black illimitable expanse of pines, the massive heaps of blooming vines, the Magnolias, the Palmettoes, all that I hoped to see in the gorgeous fields of tropic light were forgotten.) I gazed awe-stricken as one new born, new arrived from another world. Without past or future. Alive only to the presence of the most adorned and most living of all the tree companies I have ever beheld. Bonaventure is called a graveyard – a town of the dead, but the few accidents of graves are powerless in such a depth of life. A few scattered leaves do not mar the freshness and the strong life of summer forest. The rippling of living waters, the song of birds, the cordial rejoicing of insects, the confidence of flowers, the calm undisturbable grandeur of the oarks, mark
Original journal dimensions: 10 x 16.5 cm.
Holt-Atherton Special Collections, University of the Pacific Library
John Muir, journals, drawings, writings, travel, journaling, naturalist