010722

Balls of sand made by ghost crabs cleaning out their burrows after a storm. These have been rolled away from the crabs' burrows by the wind.

010522

The home of the ghost crab. Digging out after Tropical Storm Isidore.

120320e

 

we jump at each shelly clang
clammy wind

080220

flipping sand dollars     heads they live

071220c

That girl I met at 13

Wave jump Hatteras

We wrote letters, photo

She wrote about parties, drugs 

Trying for a high school baby

To get away from Mother

I don't know what happened after that

Never met anyone else like Anne.

011820d

pink cheeks
shining in the sun
the scuttling crabs

082519c

tracking in sand
ants scale the dunes

052219b

each grain of sand
was once Earth's molten heart
each shell a cloud

051819d

laughing gulls

pick at a storm windrow

wet prints

040619b

frantic sand crabs

she digs them up to watch

them disappear

030719b

Coastal Alabama after Tropical Storm Isidore

Great Blue Heron, disturbed by the storm, hanging out on a public beach.

 Unusual windrow consisting entirely of shrimp fecal pellets, coating the beach after the storm.

Last house on Dauphin Island, precariously perched at the high tide line, after the storm.

082918

runners across dunes
white pentaradial jewels
dot green webs

021318

                                                       One Sunday at the Beach


One time I put a seashell to my ear.  I heard the sea, but I also heard a very small voice.  It said "can you hear me?  Put down the shell.  Get away from this beach."

I said "hello?  I had expected just the sea."

I thought maybe the sun was getting to me because I had been feeling kind of puny for the last hour.

"Listen to me you lunkhead!” There was a pause. “Sorry about that, but this is serious.  I was like you once.  I didn't listen.  I laid on my blanket, next to my girl.  I was having a fine time.  Now look at me!  Well, you can't; it's a figure of speech."

I took the shell away from my ear and looked inside.  I didn't see anything except a few sand grains stuck to the shell.  I stuck my finger in there to see if there was anything invisible, but there wasn't.  I put the shell back to my ear.

"...Aughh!  What are you trying to do?  Don't answer that!  Listen, I'm trying to help you.  Trust me, you don't want to end up like I did.  But you'll be just like the last two guys who put this shell to their ears.  God knows where they are now.  Maybe underneath your blanket."

I put the shell down and picked up my blanket.  Nothing was there.  It is a nice big blanket and it's not easy to lay the whole thing out flat.  I really was not feeling myself and I thought about taking the voice's advice and just going home.  Instead I laid down on the blanket again and picked up the shell.

"There you are.  This might be your last chance to take some good advice.  If you want to end up living an interstitial existence, then go ahead and keep ignoring me."

I decided to take that piece of advice at least.  But then I looked at the shell and realized it was really a very large and handsome specimen. I decided to keep it, and started rolling up my blanket.  I thought I'd stop by Subs and Suds and then see what was on cable.

Don't put down the shell! Obviously I never made it.

*

So that's my story, and if you don't want to find out up close and personal what my life has become I advise you to go back to your car and drive away.  Now!

011218c

The Tiger Fish, after playfully nipping a swimmer at Gulf Shores, developed a taste for human flesh, like its rainforest counterpart. Unlike the mammalian tiger, its piscine namesake was not a solitary hunter. Small, yes, but numerous. Soon Alabama's beaches had a new kind of crimson tide.

111417d

sand in my gears
out of reach on the strand
are shells and treasures

100917b

a breakthrough, we'll bug
the minute coiled shells
that grow on seaweed
we'll hear everything said
on the American beaches
secret meetings of spies
pretending to be beach bums
no more secrets!

030617

where white gulls

pick at windrows of small shells

small footprints run

Bad Roberta Goes to the Beach

Bad Roberta Goes to the Beach

One summer Saturday Bad Roberta's parents decided to take the family to the beach. They packed up the car with a cooler, a beach umbrella, sand chairs, beach towels, sunscreen, sand toys, water toys, swim suits, a picnic lunch, and everything else they needed for the trip. Bad Roberta had to sit in the way back because she caused too much trouble and made too much noise up front. Her parents sat in the front seat, and her little brother slept in his car seat in the middle seat. Bad Roberta amused herself by eating all the best parts of the picnic lunch and sticking a pin into all the water toys. 

 

Bad Roberta painted "Who farted" on Gerald's tummy in sunscreen while he slept.

When they got there, Bad Roberta's parents had to take three trips across a half a mile of burning hot sand to carry all the stuff from the car to the beach. "Ow, ow, ow, ow!!" they shouted, as they hopped from one foot to the other across the sand. Bad Roberta ran straight to the ocean and dove in. She jumped waves and splashed water in other kids' faces while her parents set up the beach umbrella, spread out the towels, and got everything else set up. Bad Roberta's father decided to blow up the water toys. He started with Gerald's duck. However, no matter how hard he blew, the duck didn't get any bigger. "There's a hole in this duck!" he shouted at last, "I'll have to inflate something else." Alas, the story was the same. No matter what he tried to blow up, there was a hole. "Robertaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!" She was nowhere to be seen.

"Do you think she drowned?" he asked her mother hopefully.

"We'd better find her before she gets into trouble," she replied. 

"Gerald's asleep. I'll stay here with him; you go look for Bad Roberta." Bad Roberta's father set off down the beach, looking especially for evidence of trouble, and listening for screams and shouts. After he'd gone about half a mile without finding anything, he turned around and went back.

"Have you seen her?" he asked, when he got back to the umbrella. Bad Roberta's mother shook her head. So Bad Roberta's father walked a half a mile down the beach in the other direction. Still there was no sign of Bad Roberta. This time on his way back to the umbrella he had an idea, and he started to run. When he got back there he was panting. "I bet she left the beach," he gasped, "I'll go look." He checked the parking lot. The car was still there and no one was in it. Then he went across the street to the row of restaurants and shops that lined the beach road. He went into each shop and looked around carefully. "Have you seen an obnoxious little girl who likes to cause trouble?" he'd ask. No one had seen her. Finally, he went into a restaurant called "Chez Lobster." It looked VERY expensive. And there, at a table in the far corner of the room, he finally found her. He stomped right over to the table. She was just finishing a seven-course meal. "Bad Roberta!" he shouted, "you are coming with me." He grabbed her wrist and started to march her towards the door. The waiter intercepted them.

"M'sieur," he said politely, "the bill." The bill came to $247.33!! Bad Roberta's father did not leave a tip.

 

When they got back to the beach he explained what happened. Gerald was crying and Bad Roberta's mother had had all she could take. They packed up and went home. Gerald had spent most of the time at the beach asleep on his back. In the car on the way home, his tan gradually got darker and darker, spelling out "Who farted" in bold white letters in the middle of his chest.

062716

crabs build galaxies of sand
no GM needed
getting one to spell "I love you"
in granular spheroids
takes a graduate student
with too much free time

Hermit crab

Hermit crab leaving a trail across the sand at the east end of Dauphin Island, Alabama, on a small beach protected by jetties made of boulders.