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SUMMER 



follow the incoming tide on the mud-flats behind the brown- 

 edged line of foam. Redshanks, and the straggling dunlins 

 that remain through summer, congregate on some miry islet 

 out of gunshot, and call inspiritedly, in harmony with the 

 water's brisker flow. The drowsy calm that filled the period 

 of low-water in the summer sunshine is over, and usually a 

 little breeze gets up with the incoming tide, and adds to the 

 sense of seaside activity that is never missing long. Among 

 the deep cornfields and dusky pastures within the wall, we 

 shall have to wait until autumn, or at least until harvest for 



the next turning-point in time. Once outside the sea-wall 

 every tide brings a stir of diurnal change, like the whole cycle 

 of the equinoxes and the solstices packed into twelve hours, 

 and the days of July and August go to a livelier and more 

 springlike measure. 



Constant change and stir is provided by the movements 

 of the birds that haunt sea-marshes and estuaries. As the 

 advancing tide of the year leaves midsummer behind, the 

 bird-life of these seaside tracts is replenished from two 

 sources. First, the birds that nested locally lead forth their 

 fledged families, and soon there is a steady inflow of the 

 breeders on inland moors and wastes far to northward, which 



