Down by the rushing stream, banks of wild yellow irises shimmered in the twilight, and up in the vaulted corridor that the trackscut through the trees, the mild June air was filled with twinkling green fireflies.
Each had its own way of moving through the land and each had its own odor of passage: the railway trackscut straight ahead, asking no questions of the bedrock through which it sliced, the wrought-iron rails smelling of axle grease and the wooden slats of rancid, licorice-scented shellac.
Lowenstein also says that most farmers plant up to three new trees for each one that is cut down and vast tracks of land set aside for trees mean thousands of acres are saved from urban development.