![]() ![]() My sister, Enola, and I used to run shoeless in the summers until the pavement got so hot our toes sank into the tar. On the north shore few things are more essential than hard feet. I've been delinquent in breaking in my calluses this year and my feet hurt where stones chew at them. ![]() I walk toward the wooden stairs that sprawl down the cliff and lean into the sand. ![]() But we librarians are known for being resourceful. My father's apathy left me to inherit an unfixable problem, one too costly for a librarian in Napawset. Measures that should have been taken-bulkheads, terracing-weren't. The Long Island Sound is peppered with the remains of homes and lifetimes, all ground to sand in its greedy maw. The place where I've spent my entire life is unlikely to survive the fall storm season. Last night's storm tore land and churned water, littering the beach with bottles, seaweed, and horseshoe crab carapaces. Perched on the bluff's edge, the house is in danger. ![]()
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