The wind blows steady from the east
Bringing air tangy with salt
The banks of mist, torn and tattered, clear,
Revealing distant land-masses to north and south
Sand and reeds whistle and rattle
Across the dunes
The storm beach is littered with flotsam,
Tarred timbers and frayed ropes
The Outer Banks have sheltered many,
Ships and sailors, refugees
Seeking haven from Atlantic storms
A pause for thought
Here the horizon is full of choices
Each compass-point a destination
I wrap myself up, staring out to sea
Awaiting an omen to guide me
I have lost my faith in experience
Since it has brought me here
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