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.
Roger Singer 