
Harbor


Aaron and his mother would sell their cloth, returning home the next morning with oats and lamp oil and more raw wool, to be dyed the colors of the ocean deeps and woven into cloth textured like the sea itself.
The Half-A-Moon Inn by Paul Fleischman






After one of the big storms that come in from the islands, our shore is covered with small clams. The clams are no larger than the end of your finger and the wind spread them out on the beach so thick it’s hard to walk. The clams are blue and when you look either way, up or down the beach, all you can see for leagues are these tiny blue clams. That’s why we call it the Blue Beach.
Zia by Scott O’Dell


He tried to picture the ocean. The great blue expanse that linked him to his parents. He saw the waves, smooth as silk, slip and slither, saw them break up and roil in great spurts of foam. He pictured his parents standing out on another shore, thinking of him.
Mulrox and the Malcognitos by Kerelyn Smith
