—from Moominpappa at Sea, Tove Jansson

“The island was moving all night. The fisherman’s point drifted imperceptibly a little farther out to sea.

"Shudder after shudder shook the whole island like chills running up and down its spine, and the black pool seemed to creep deeper and deeper into the rocks. It was sucked in and out and fresh waves broke in from the sea, but the pool never seemed to fill up. Its enormous mirror-like black eye sank lower and lower, surrounded by a fringe of sea grass round the edges.

"On the beach on the leeward side, little field mice ran backward and forward at the edge of the water, the sand slipping away from under their paws. Boulders turned over heavily, revealing the pale roots of the sea pinks.

"At dawn the island slept. The trees had reached the lighthouse rock; deep holes were left where great boulders had been before, now lying scattered among the heather. They were waiting for another night so they could roll nearer and nearer the lighthouse. The great autumn gale continued to blow.”

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