Here, among the deep sea-sway, a continuance of the thin green pines reaches to the shore and lets its spiny promptings dip and lash into the salt. It was the horizoning storms that were to be watched and mostly underneath our soaking shirts to fear. Then the often creaking cells of the resilient bending boughs would snap. Such times a man couldn't dream for the quaking of his bowels. Such times a man can't think of his wife for fear of his children.