The tide approaches and gently flips the waves on to the beach.
Trees rustle their leaves to greet to the day.
Soft breezes whisper in my ear as I lay against the bluff
Warm sand dances among my toes
A cricket resting behind me, occasionally arises to sing a song
Soon the flats will trade their fish for codders.
The world is still and perfect if only for this instant,
as I slowly drift into what I now know to be “Brewster Magic.”
by Geoffrey Swetz
Written while on vacation in Brewster, MA in 1993 with Shane Rossiter and family.