High overhead are ranges of green rustling arches; through which the sun's rays come down to you in sparkles.
You seem to be wandering through illimitable halls of pillars; everywhere you catch glimpses of stately aisles, intersecting each other at all points.

A strange silence, too, reigns far and near; the air flushed with the mellow stillness of a sunset.
But after the long morning calms, the sea-breeze comes in; and creeping over the tops of these thousand trees, they nod their plumes.

Soon the breeze freshens; and you hear the branches brushing against each other; and the flexible trunks begin to sway.

Toward evening the whole grove is rocking to and fro; and the traveller on the Broom Road is startled by the frequent falling of the nuts, snapped from their brittle stems.

They come flying through the air, ringing like jugglers' balls; and often bound along the ground for many rods..