I was young, in love, and angry, and before those qualifications difficulties became light.
Meanwhile, the first essential was breakfast of some kind.

I arose, stretched, put on my half-dried clothes, and mounting a low hummock on the forest edge looked around.

The sun was riding up finely into the sky, and the sea to the eastward shone for leagues and leagues in the loveliest azure.

Where it rippled on my own beach and those of the low islands noted over night, a wonderful fire of blue and red played on the sands as though the broken water were full of living gems.

The sky was full of strange gulls with long, forked tails, and a lovely little flying lizard with transparent wings of the palest green--like those of a grasshopper--was flitting about picking up insect stragglers.
All this was very charming, but what I kept saying to myself was "Streaky rashers and hot coffee: rashers and coffee and rolls," and, indeed, had the gates of Paradise themselves opened at that moment I fear my first look down the celestial streets within would have been for a restaurant.