Spring on the Northern Coast

Up north on the coast 

Spring is no new season at all.

I remember dense damp fog,

the sky was gray and plump

geese with long black necks

flew as arrowheads slicing slate clouds.

I remember the air so cold and wet-

my skin stayed moist and my nose

became red.

The beach on the sound, rocky

with smooth stones and 

we took off our socks and shoes 

and splashed in the lapping folds of the sea.

Our feet turned opaque on the soles

and in the toes.

We rolled up our blue jeans and

our raincoats collected droplets from the 

tide and from the dripping sky.

We laughed at the sound seagulls make. 

Dad  panned the old shore for 

segments of memories. He held 

the leash and patted the golden retriever

saying, "Good girl, Sadie."