126 FLORIDA DAYS.

 The solitude is overpowering; the still air
brings the strong balsamic fragrance in burning
gusts, but there is no wind; at noon, on the
barrens, even the dance of gorgeous butterflies
.and the clumsy booming of bumble-bees, cease;
the stillness is appalling, and is never restful. It
















is a relief to see any motion anywhere, lizards
slipping over a wrinkled root that buries itself
in the sand like a veined and withered finger, or
two buzzards sweeping upon rigid wings through
the shadowless blue, in vast curves and circles.
 It is a relief here in the barrens when sud-