I finally managed to pull off this Boston Harbor Islands camping trip I've been talking about for years. Pati, Sarah, and I headed to Grape Island over Memorial Day weekend, semi-backpacking. It was awesome, featuring ferry rides, campfires on the beach, an awe-inspiring huge flock of sharp-tailed sparrows, crazily shell-filled beaches, peat and other wetlandness, watching tide and stars, and heavy jugs of water.
I also continued my recent actually-writing-poems thing:
The same sun shines down: Rice stalks wither in dry fields, Sweat drips past my eyes. Still now meadow flowers bud; In the streamlet minnows gleam.
That sound: a wave's crash, sudden, on a rocky shore? Here, the longed-for sea? No. Sparrows: a sumac full rise as one. Soft wings beat strong.