The Red
Clouds With Yellow Edges Dissolve In Hazy Dimness; The Islands, With
Grayish-White Ruffs Of Mist About Them, Cast Ill-Defined Shadows On
The Glistening Waters, And The Whole Down-Bending Firmament Becomes
Pearl-Gray.
For three or four hours after sunrise there is nothing
especially impressive in the landscape.
The sun, though seemingly
unclouded, may almost be looked in the face, and the islands and
mountains, with their wealth of woods and snow and varied beauty of
architecture, seem comparatively sleepy and uncommunicative.
As the day advances toward high noon, the sun-flood streaming through
the damp atmosphere lights the water levels and the sky to glowing
silver. Brightly play the ripples about the bushy edges of the
islands and on the plume-shaped streaks between them, ruffled by
gentle passing wind-currents. The warm air throbs and makes itself
felt as a life-giving, energizing ocean, embracing all the landscape,
quickening the imagination, and bringing to mind the life and motion
about us - the tides, the rivers, the flood of light streaming through
the satiny sky; the marvelous abundance of fishes feeding in the
lower ocean; the misty flocks of insects in the air; wild sheep and
goats on a thousand grassy ridges; beaver and mink far back on many a
rushing stream; Indians floating and basking along the shores; leaves
and crystals drinking the sunbeams; and glaciers on the mountains,
making valleys and basins for new rivers and lakes and fertile beds
of soil.
Through the afternoon, all the way down to the sunset, the day grows
in beauty.
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