After the Storm


When I woke, the windows were  translucent  from the dried salt spray. I went downstairs to make coffee.

The power was out, but the gas range was working. I was searching for the  kettle when I heard the door. She came in, hair splendidly tousled across her tan, lovely face.

“You won’t recognize the beach,” she said, breathless. “The storm cut a channel through the breakwater. A bunch of boats were driven onto the shore, and there are these huge mooring chains nobody knew about—”

Her words tumbled out like swallows flying from a chimney. God, how I loved her.



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