Reclaiming a Salt Meadow 



the richest tones of green are gently 

 blending in the grass ; in the middle dis- 

 tance a point runs out towards the stream, 

 laden with fruit-trees in snowy bloom ; the 

 Willows near and far are putting on their 

 gray-green coats, making a tender shim- 

 mer around their swaying branches and 

 graceful twigs. The little river winds, blue 

 and full, here and there amid the grassy 

 stretches, and the distant hills are full of 

 opalescent hues of emerald and pearl, 

 with red of tree-stems, and faintest green 

 hints of foliage, such as Monet would 

 love to paint. The houses of the port, 

 not yet quite veiled by leaves, make spots 

 of white and yellow and red against the 

 deepening background of Elms and Ma- 

 ples. A streak of blue still indicates the 

 harbor ; by to-morrow it will have disap- 

 peared, for the vision changes like a kalei- 

 doscope, the white of Pear blossoms 

 passing like a cloud, to be succeeded by 

 the rosy blush of Apple buds. Each day 

 some well-known feature of the winter 

 landscape grows fainter as the leaves ex- 

 pand, till of a sudden you look for it and 

 it has gone, and in its stead are the full- 

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