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The emerald green is that iridescent bird, the Quetzal, sailing past in lazy circles, his regal tail floating behind him like the trailing robes of a monarch; the yellow green is of slimy water; the verdant green of leaf-hung heavens filters down a pale sunlight to the reptilian green of sinuous coils. This is the dank, warm jungle swarming with birds and brilliant insects in a riot of verdant colors. Up against the twisting tree trunks stands the Council House of the Chieftain, the Long-house, the log-built Maloka brought to the north woods by invading Iroquois and copied often by the Pilgrims. This was shingled with heavy palm leaves. Seated just within the doorway each upon his striped blanket was a conclave of the Nations. Before them stood the Holy Master: He Who Is Called Waikano. Softly the pale jade sunlight fell upon the white folds of His toga, slightly tinting His golden sandals, His soft curled beard, His light brown tresses. "For twelve moons have I walked among you, while the sun swung around his circle. For ten moons now you have not battled nor taken human sacrifices. I brought you seeds and you have used them; seeds for drugs and food and clothing, spices and the warm sweet chocolate as well as gourds for food containers. I taught you many ceremonies, baptismal rites and sacred marriage. I leave behind those who can lead you, for I must go on to other nations." Then the leader arose and spoke: "Dark is the sun, Great Waikano! Dark our lives on the
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he diffusing light of
golden yellow turns to green.