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The humus has left its thousand-year carpet on the ground. The trees touch each other in height, in trembling unity. Below, dark is the jungle. A short flight, a cry crosses it, the birds of the cold, the foxes with electric tails, a large leaf that falls, and my horse steps on the soft bed of the sleeping tree, but under the earth the trees understand each other again and touch each other. . The jungle is one, a single great handful of perfume, a single root under the earth.