The banks of the Santa Cruz River in southeastern Arizona were described in 1855 as " covered with poplars and willows, ash trees and plantains, oaks and walnut trees." But a century later the river was gone.
He was soon on the other side of the river (this was his way back to La Huchette), and Emma saw him in the meadow, walking under the poplars, slackening his pace now and then as one who reflects.
Birds twittered their adieux from the alders in the lane, and every tree stood ready to send down its shower of red or yellow apples at the first shake.