And on those days the thought of the wind
and the thought of human life came very near together in my mind.
Our noisy years did indeed seem moments in the being of the eternal
silence; and the wind, in the face of that great field of stationary
blue, was as the wind of a butterfly's wing. The placidity of the
sea was a thing likewise to be remembered. Shelley speaks of the sea
as 'hungering for calm,' and in this place one learned to understand
the phrase. Looking down into these green waters from the broken
edge of the rock, or swimming leisurely in the sunshine, it seemed to
me that they were enjoying their own tranquillity; and when now and
again it was disturbed by a wind ripple on the surface, or the quick
black passage of a fish far below, they settled back again (one could
fancy) with relief.
On shore too, in the little nook of shelter, everything was so
subdued and still that the least particular struck in me a
pleasurable surprise. The desultory crackling of the whin-pods in
the afternoon sun usurped the ear. The hot, sweet breath of the
bank, that had been saturated all day long with sunshine, and now
exhaled it into my face, was like the breath of a fellow-creature.
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