170 



THE OPAL SEA 



Wave 

 furrows. 



Grace of 

 water again. 



Color of 

 the wave. 



parallel with the shore, the waves will curl and 

 fall at their shore end like a furrow cast by a 

 plow. Such beach combers will travel along the 

 sands, sometimes for many miles, each white 

 furrow having its successor marching at its 

 heels and breaking along the shore in snowy 

 sequence. 



Very beautiful is the breaking wave ! Water 

 forms are always beautiful because of their elas- 

 ticity, their pliability, their perfect abandon in 

 movement. The reckless, careless, surging wave 

 seems to have about it the grace of the unpre- 

 meditated. It is rhythmical and harmonious 

 and yet, apparently, unrestrained by law or pat- 

 tern. Each one that comes hurrying in from 

 Newfoundland banks or African shore seems 

 freighted with a message and falls breathless 

 in its telling. It rises, curves, and curls, and 

 as it bends downward a long bar of silver light 

 flashes along its top. At this moment — the 

 moment before the fall — the wave throws off its 

 most beautiful light and color. The crest is 

 bluish-white like a shadow cast upon snow, 

 below it the thin transparent wedge of water 

 shows a rare blue-green; and still lower the 

 wave base shades into a darker blue. Color, 

 light, sky reflection, and foaming crest are all 

 mixed for a moment in a symphony of blue and 



