122 BEACH GRASS 



ice covered, was equally blue — a deep indigo 

 blue — everything was painted with it. As the 

 sun rose over the rim of the earth, gleams of gold 

 and flame shot out and at last illumined the whole 

 scene. Every weed-stalk, every twig, every 

 branch of bush and tree sparkled and glistened 

 in the morning rays. 



I had intended to do some wood-chopping, but 

 the fascination of the scene prevented all work. 

 Its attraction was so great that I spent the entire 

 day wandering from place to place, finding 

 everywhere new scenes of beauty. From the top 

 of Sagamore Hill the great sparkling ice-fields of 

 marsh were spread below me. The trees of the 

 wooded islands did not look dark against the 

 ice as they do when bare, nor white as when 

 loaded with snow, but they were of a delicate 

 blue-gray and thickly beset with sparkling 

 brilliants. 



Everywhere one turned, familiar trees and 

 bushes were transformed as if by miracle. Twigs 

 no larger than a lead pencil were covered with 

 clear ice until they were three and even four 

 inches in circumference. The long spikes of 



