It’s been over a year since I last saw the waves cut out the east facing rocks of Sand Island. I’d forgotten the different color stone and green ceiling moss of the caves. I had even forgot the fine, soft sand. It rained the first night; bear tracks I’d seen the first day were washed into the lake. The second night I sat on the pier and gazed at the stars, but it wasn’t so much gazing as gaping at all the illumination of the sky without a moon. The basin of the big dipper was as big as my hand stretched out. The tide was inland five feet compared to that morning. The waves were long dark shadows on the surface of the water and moved like quick spears thrown in the night.
I woke up at 6:30am and watched the sun rise to the right of Oak Island. It started pink and quickly turned to a royal blue shining with gold filaments. I waded in the surf near the shore to find an agate. I walked to the south end of the beach where a cliff cuts off the sand but didn’t find any. Instead I found myself staring at a pile of black onyx, red quarts, sandstone and other colored pebbles. These were the colors of the earth polished by water and warmed by the sun. The waves fought against my kayak the entire paddle back, and I couldn't help but feel that the island didn't want me to leave just yet.
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