Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Thegreatbrownearthturnedahugeflanktoit,exhalingthemoistureoftheearlydew.Theatmosphere,washedcleanofdustandmist,wastranslucentascrystal.Farofftotheeast,thehillsontheothersideofBrodersonCreekstoodoutagainstthepallidsaffronofthehorizonasflatandassharplyoutlinedasifpastedonthesky.ThecampanileoftheancientMissionofSanJuanseemedasfineasfrostwork.Allaboutbetweenthehorizons,thecarpetofthelandunrolleditselftoinfinity.Butnowitwasnolongerparchedwithheat,crackedandwarpedbyamercilesssun,powderedwithdust.Therainhaddoneitswork;notaclodthatwasnotswollenwithfertility,notafissurethatdidnotexhalethesenseoffecundity.Onecouldnottakeadozenstepsupontherancheswithoutthebrusquesensationthatunderfootthelandwasalive;rousedatlastfromitssleep,palpitatingwiththedesireofreproduction.Deepdownthereintherecessesofthesoil,thegreatheartthrobbedoncemore,thrillingwithpassion,vibratingwithdesire,offeringitselftothecaressoftheplough,insistent,eager,imperious.Dimlyonefeltthedeep-seatedtroubleoftheearth,theuneasyagitationofitsmembers,thehiddentumultofitswomb,demandingtobemadefruitful,toreproduce,todisengagetheeternalrenascentgermofLifethatstirredandstruggledinitsloins.

           Theploughs,thirty-fiveinnumber,eachdrawnbyitsteamoften,stretchedinaninterminableline,nearlyaquarterofamileinlength,behindandaheadofVanamee.