Gray rainy day thots

Sitting here quietly enjoying a rainy, gray afternoon ( not the "norm for northern Az), I began thinking about the east coast--and recalled this poem I wrote a long time ago--it seems sometimes to be another lifetime. So, here it is :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Assateague

A lone angler casts his hopes into the surf,
quietly sitting, contemplating life.
At peace with the surrounding silence of nature.
An occasional stroller along the shoreline,
water teasing the feet, quietly washing away footprints.

Wind whipped grass swaying on storm flattened dunes.
The expanse of the great gray Atlantic greeting the eye,
water cool to the touch.
The shoreline hammered by the surf,
manipulated by the whim of the sea.
Forever changing, yet somehow the same.

Sandpipers dancing with the surf,
as little children not wanting to wet their feet.
Tiny creatures of the sand, blowing bubbles
as the waves recede from the shore.
Living pools, remnants of the high tide,
entrapping creatures of the sea.

Shattered shells, the horseshoe crab,
an occasional starfish, littering the sand.
Further inland, egrets roost in the trees,
appearing as snowy white ornaments
in the early morning light.
Petite sika deer, wild ponies of lore,
inhabit the meadows, feasting on the salty grass.

The lowly clam, making its home
amongst the sandy bottom of the cove.
Mussels tenuously moored to the cordgrass.
The heron, distinctive, regal in stance,
parading through the brackish pools
in search of sustenance.

The crab, claws raised up
to ward off the impending assailant.
The piping plover, nesting on the protected sand of their
ancestors.
Ever present gulls laughing on the breeze, mocking
mankind.

Still it remains, this beautiful land,
"this place across" the water,
even amongst the marks of man.
The beauty of all things wild and free.

© Jeanne Marie Fusco November 1997
Chincoteauge Island Virgina