Tuesday, October 20, 2015

At the Island

We wanted to leave before the storm.

The preamble was familiar.

The low sky while the storm gathers strength.

The splay of clouds where the front twists back in on itself,

the odd calm as the sky and sea attain the same hue.

This would be an inhospitable place to wait it out.

The widespread cobble.

The island a thicket of rosa rugosa, staghorn sumac and poison ivy.

We launched and made our

to the larger island to the east where

We pitched the tents in the hollow at the foot of the dunes and waited for it come ashore.

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