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  • After our evening walk along the shore we row the dinghy out into the bay. The sea is green. The water is cold. The moon is full. Phosphorescence glows green like green glowing magic gems bobbing and weaving in the frigid water. We row ashore then dig for clams. We build a fire in the shelter of the dunes. Ancient driftwood sputters and smokes. Kindling crackles and burns. Filling the old iron kettle with seawater we set it to boil.

    Wind whips up the flames sending sparks skyward in the night. Succulent clouds of steam rise wafting from the roiling surface of the bubbling cauldron tickling our nostrils like scent tendrils in an animated cartoon.

    We feast upon the clams like kings. Ravenous starving monarchs of a sugar sand empire
    greedily feeding upon the heated hearty hapless crustaceans. Shucking sucking and slurping from the shells the sweet salty treasures that taste like the ocean captured and caught and doled out by the savory mouthful.
    Photo: Evening Walk by Richard P. Alvarez
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