No Fireworks, no Fair, no Illumination. No house too full with each generation.

Sand
Clean white sand
warm in summer
rolling wet
hot bodies
fresh from swimming
in the Sound
Frozen white
salted  crunch
underfoot in winter
wind blasting
eye stinging
unforgiving bits of it
Sand obsessed Arthur
the wave caressed
pitch of dune
shaped by fetch
and depth
Rooted in beachgrass tendrils
entrapped in the
timber groins we built
along this stretch of beach
formed the fine and
delicate line
that kept

Generations of bigotry / Racist claws ensnarl / Those infectious thoughts / Rooted deeply in the soil

As inaccessible now as Atlantis before it sank in the Sound.

A side by side stroll is a ghost of the past.

On my walks in the woods not far from home there is another beauty fallen across my path.