He worked with purpose

As we stumbled over the loose round rocks

On the sliver of shoreline

I sat on the riprap and looked north to the island


The tide rising

A tug boat a little to the east

Anchored at the mouth of the harbor

A blood red dot against the blue horizon

Gulls treaded air above us

Some perched on drift logs

All quiet, all watching, anticipating our next move

He placed the last stone and backed away

It stood

It was time to leave