Allah is all-knowing! To me,
wandering for the first time in this region, the irrigation canals seemed
to flow from every point of the compass. I teased my spirit with the
imaginary task of unperplexing the liquid maze, of drawing a map of this
daedal network of intersecting waters.
[Illustration: The Waters of Tozeur]
You can stroll in every direction along shady paths in the oasis and never
weary of its beauty. The tiller-folk are a happy people--one can see from
their faces that they have few cares; those that are not at work under the
trees may be seen splashing about the brooks or wending to market with
donkeys that almost disappear under immense loads of green stuff; they
will greet you with a smile and a "Bon soir, Moussie!" (It is always bon
_soir_.)
Seven little villages nestle under the palms; here and there, too, you
enter unexpectedly upon gem-like patches of waterless, shimmering
sand--mock-Saharas, golden and topaz-tinted, set in a ring of laughing
greenery; there are kingfishers in arrowy flight or poised, like a flame
of blue, over the still pools; overhead, among the branches, a ceaseless
cooing of turtle-doves.
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