Two days ago the sand stretched on
for miles
cream colored
soft beneath the feet and deep
we set up beach umbrellas and luxuriated
in the late August sun
watched youngsters playing
in the waves
just enough surf
to draw out happy shrieks
from grandchildren
our own and those of other visitors
come to admire the colored cliffs
and feel the power
of this place sacred to Algonquin
ancestors and their descendents
the island's Wampanoag tribe

Next day a storm
the edge of what had been
a hurricane
swept through
and when we came today
to have a look
the sand was gone!
only a five mile jumble
rocks of every size
dark brown
sad sight for those of us
who would have liked
to stretch our bodies
on beach towels and bask
away the summer's final hours

But as so often
when things turn upside down
we've been advised
another tide will bring
the lost sand back
as it does every spring
so by next summer
all will be right again
another reason
for this old poet to hang on
perhaps to sleep away
the winter months
like the bear man
he knows himself to be
then back to bask
on some soft stretch of sandy beach
perhaps Aquinnah
will once more call his name