Марсианские хроники
December 2001: The Green Morning
Heclappedhishandstogetherandsteppedupandwalkedaroundhislittlecamp,anditwasoneo’clockinthemorning.
Itrainedsteadilyfortwohoursandthenstopped.Thestarscameout,freshlywashedandclearerthanever.
Changingintodryclothesfromhiscellophanepack,Mr.BenjaminDriscolllaydownandwenthappilytosleep.
Thesunroseslowlyamongthehills.ItbrokeoutuponthelandquietlyandwakenedMr.Driscollwherehelay.
Hewaitedamomentbeforearising.Hehadworkedandwaitedalonghotmonth,andnow,standingup,heturnedatlastandfacedthedirectionfromwhichhehadcome.
Itwasagreenmorning.
Asfarashecouldseethetreeswerestandingupagainstthesky.Notonetree,nottwo,notadozen,butthethousandshehadplantedinseedandsprout.Andnotlittletrees,no,notsaplings,notlittletendershoots,butgreattrees,hugetrees,treesastallastenmen,greenandgreenandhugeandroundandfull,treesshimmeringtheirmetallicleaves,treeswhispering,treesinalineoverhills,lemontrees,limetrees,redwoodsandmimosasandoaksandelmsandaspens,cherry,maple,ash,apple,orange,eucalyptus,stungbyatumultuousrain,nourishedbyalienandmagicalsoiland,evenashewatched,throwingoutnewbranches,poppingopennewbuds.
"Impossible!"criedMr.BenjaminDriscoll.
Butthevalleyandthemorningweregreen.
Andtheair!
Allabout,likeamovingcurrent,amountainriver,camethenewair,theoxygenblowingfromthegreentrees.Youcouldseeitshimmerhighincrystalbillows
