We haven’t been much through the winter. It’s damp with a promise of sunshine behind the low ceiling. We’re here to return rocks to the briny deep. The parking lot is a puddle splashing love story. We’re told my a man walking his dog that there’s a family of foxes on the island across the channel. Maybe we’ll see them another day.
Nellie rakes her fingertips through time
Grains of millenial magic dusting her hands
In the channel a flurry of ducks beats by
As boots step boldly water rising
More stones into the big pool
Splashes smiles and silence
Fog is our wispy cotton veil