All of us are drawn to the sea’s edge as to a fire. Its vast reaches roll and heave in the light. There is an incalculable weight of waters withheld just beyond us, a roaming kept in check. What an exalting thing it is to see those waters dancing with silver castings from the moon! Even in our careless, civilized state, drinking beer, watching driftwood burn, or absorbing the sun and one another, in no way obligated to the kind of cold suffering or exile which sea and seashore have meant to men in the past, there is something in us that wants this brilliance, this barren waste. The sheeted surfaces blown over by all winds rove on with their freight of light during the day, constantly changing, sometimes black, purple, and gray under pigeon-silver skies, with hazy, soft horizons, sometimes silver scudding with gold, or blue, green, and white in all shades; and always the tidal balance, the surf’s fall and drag at the sand’s edge, whatever the season. During the autumn and winter months the cliffs hang their shadows over the beach very early in the afternoon, cold darkness moving toward an iridescent surf that reflects the last light of the sun. The sunset shows curly salmon and fiery orange streaks on the other side of the vast flat table that often runs with sea ducks at this time of year; and then, singly, the stars begin to shoot up their spears and arrows, alignments for eternal navigation. IV A Rhythmic Shore On the beach it might be said that there is no such thing as decline and decay, although in a physical sense drastic change is obvious, from year to year and even from minute to minute. In a northern forest where the trees have been left to grow for many years, I have sensed the presence of a great establishment, something silent and absolutely personal, a society of trees with its own strong relationship to the sun, to the roaring winter winds and snows, to dry years and wet, using the earth-bound materials of growth, decay, and old age as provisions for indefinite residence. These tree communities culminate in “climax” formations, dominated by particular varieties of trees such as maple and beech, or spruce and fir, to progress no further until some great interference, such as a lumbering operation, or climatic change--an increase or decrease in average temperatures over a period of years--may start a community succession all over again.