(Regan) "Spull Point"

She is too tired to pry open her mind, too funny about its little mussel moistness.
My life is so difficult, she thinks. But it would be very easy if I became stronger.
She is out on a sand spit in a salt marsh, the tide beckons to her.
Three white wading birds track fish in the grasses. Snails sleep in the mud. I stay still to watch the birds stand so alert, and because when I walk I get more sand in my running shoes. I try saying, Nature, come to me and stir me up. Snap me up like a shining fish. Consolidate me.

If there is a force of nature who makes sense of imprecations like this one, then it is content to bide its time until the day comes to snap her. Now the wind drives rows of tiny waves against each other.