In simple, rhythmic prose, which does not need the occasional rhymed words to make it pure poetry, the author-artist tells of a Maine Island that is home. His cadence is a strong, straightforward beat which sometimes changes to a joyous, almost sea-chantey lilt for the lifting of a fog above sparkling blue water, or the braving of a hurricane, when a falling tree can be seen and felt but not heard in the roaring wind. You read, and suddenly you too are singing, because the book has everything that children and grownups love about the sea, the shore, and the quiet forests beyond—storm clouds piling up behind a rugged coast, rain rings on the surface of a many-islanded sea, fiddleheads unfurling in a misty wood, bright boats in small busy harbors. Like the children in the book, exploring the trunks, upper limbs, and tops of giant trees felled by the hurricane, you too will walk where no one ever walked before.

From the dust jacket

As The Horn Book wrote, "The author has succeeded in transferring his love for the Maine islands to the printed page and as you listen to his words and look at his pictures you feel taht every day and every season is a 'time of wonder.' This is a [book] of great beauty. From the dust jacket of the 1985 reprint