Donna Geissler
Beach Walks
There’s a chill in the air that could slice through bone, and you’d give absolutely anything to be able to wind the clock backward to a gentler time of year. A strong wind whips the pines into a tizzy and flicks the last few leaves from the tallest oaks in the woods behind the house. Two squirrels spar over a handful of acorns, then chase each other in circles and squares. Now and then, a solitary snowflake floats by, headed nowhere (just like you), and you squint into the middle distance and try to recall the sun on your face last summer when you walked the sandy shores of Lake Michigan, the warm water tickling your ankles, the giant, forested dunes asleep on your shoulder, the early evening light a promise of still longer days ahead.
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