HIGH DUNES

The shoreline is a paper

waiting for a story. Frequent

coal blue skies compete with the

gray of midday.  Oil cloth jackets

provide temporary warmth.  Multiple

nearby voices scale up the dunes,

but the power of the waves refuse

them any higher.  Birds scatter and

then rejoin, swiftly passing overhead.

The winds are held together by

stitches of breezes, plaited thick

like a nautical rope, sewn on the

edges.  A gray-white cloudy mist

shrouds distant wandering figures.

They walk where they have been

before.  Over and again.

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