Three of us wander along
the South shore with a dog.
Wind, calm waters, currents
carry rollers straight ahead
to the beach with lazy thuds
before the tide sucks them back.
Sanderlings swarm almost in reach
exquisite in their fluid formation.
Wind-driven strings of seaweed
their tips sand-anchored
spin round and round, tracing
crop circles onto shore's surface.
The dog at our side, we follow
these sand ciphers into the dunes.
~ Brooks Robards