I walked down to the shore this morning, sun still low on the sea;another had been there before me, making tracksthat made straight for the waves.Brown pelicans came with their ripples and ribbons; sanderlings and sandpiperskept darting, drilling the sand; under a breaker a conch lay broken and blazing,a ladder curving back to the deep.A pair of burred pufferfish, hides starred and striped, were curing to tanned leather,lips and eyes sewn tight in the glare. Then a four-wheel came, and exhaustand dark clouds swept the ocean away,leaving only the sun at my feet, following the swells in and out,each step stamping a small fire in the wet,the burn of the surf too bright now to face.
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