"The sea which lies before me while I write glows rather than sparkles in the still December sunshine. With the tide turning, it leans quietly against the land, almost un-flecked by ripples or by foam. Near to the horizon it is a luxurious purple, spotted with lines of emerald green.At the horizon it is indigo. Near to the shore, where my view is framed by rising heaps of dry grey seagrass, there is a band of lighter green, icy and pure, less radiant, opaque however, not transparent. We are in the north and the bright sunshine cannot penetrate the sea. Where the gentle water taps the rocks there is still a surface skin of colour. The cloudless sky is very pale at the indigo horizon which it lightly pencils in with silver. Its blue gains towards the Zenith and vibrates there.But the sky looks cold, even the sun looks cold...."
(Iris Murdoch, excerpt from "The Sea, The Sea" pub. 1978
