SEA-WRACK 7 



a gang-plank laden with my own particular 

 bundles, following days of haste and nights of 

 planning. I go out on the upper deck of the 

 vessel, look upward at a gull and think of the 

 amusing side of all the fuss and preparation, 

 the farewells, the departure, which sufficient 

 perspective gives. And then I look ahead, out 

 toward the blue-black ocean, and up again to 

 the passing gulls, and the old, yet ever new 

 thrill of travel, of exploration, possesses me. 

 Even if now the thrill is shared by none other, 

 if I must stand alone at the rail watching the 

 bow dip to the first swell outside the harbor, 

 I am yet glad to be one of the ants which has 

 escaped from the turmoil of the great nest, to 

 drift for a while on this tossing leaf. 



At the earnest of winter — whether biting frost 

 or flurry of snowflakes — a woodchuck mounts 

 his little moraine of trampled earth, looks about 

 upon the saddening world, disapproves, and de- 

 scends to his long winter's sleep. An exact 

 parallel may be observed in the average pas- 

 senger. As the close perspective of home, of 

 streets, of terrestrial society shps away, and his 

 timid eyes gaze upon the unwonted sight of a 

 horizon — a level horizon unobstructed by any 



