BATTLEFIELD OF THE SHORE 



Verdun, to Furcy and to Dunkirk. As I look I see 

 fountains of spray shoot up into the air, hke the 

 return of material things to their native elements 

 after a direct hit with HE. The shore is almost as 

 bare of vegetation as were the fields about Douau- 

 mont, and the gradual approach of the tide, foot 

 after foot, yard after yard, is the perfect parallel of 

 a creeping barrage. 



Now that we have labored our simile we might 

 strive to realize the lack of changes in our shore-line 

 since Cain killed Abel or the first apeman showed 

 signs of progress toward humanity by fashioning a 

 club and braining his neighbor. 



Evolution is going on everywhere, but usually so 

 quietly that we are not conscious of it. The turbu- 

 lent warfare of elements and life on the seashore 

 is so tempestuous that we cannot forget it. We may 

 cut down trees and dig ourselves into cities on land, 

 or we may travel in only slight peril of our lives 

 from shore to shore across the ocean. But when all 

 the wildernesses have been tamed, all the deserts 

 made to grow food and clothing, cradles and coffins, 

 the open shore-line will still be a wild place. 

 Wharves and jetties and breakwaters may last for 

 a time, but sooner or later, wind and wave will lift 

 together and reduce them to sand and rust and 

 splinters. 



Let us take our stand on a cliff a few yards above 

 the sea, with rocks to our right and a sandy beach to 

 the left. We have here, on southeastern Nonsuch, a 

 typical sample of the tens of thousands of miles of 



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