Pea Island (from Glen)

We drove down to the Outer Banks,
west wind whisking us along the 2-lane,
till the land flattened and the sky took on the smudge of sea.
Rounding a bend, we saw a flock of birds
take flight from bare branches,
like leaves falling up, scattering to the seasons.

As we arched the causeway bridge
seagulls hovered at the highway's edge
and by the oceanside we flew away the day,
stretching out our arms like wings,
echoing the gulls' laughter.

We soared above the rush and suck of surf,
the plovers darting on swift stilts,
the mesmerizing ripples of dunes
darkening in December's early dusk.

We watched the tide flow out
and the stars ascend, beyond the shorebirds' reach
and the reflection of rising Orion
in the magic silver ebb wash of the beach.