Marshfield Woman. One.
My friend, Eddy Fineberg, of high school days, and I,
Decided to take a longish bike trip from Newton, Mass, to the Cape.
Unbeknownst to us, a hurricane was pending,
But into the unknown frey we went.
On a beach near Marshfield on the Cape, the storm met us.
I remember the wind and the waves--
The sand, driving parallel to the ground against our faces.
As young guys, this was just adventure.
On the beach, we met a group who invited us to their beach house.
Once inside, they explained that their father
Had constructed this snug and low structure to withstand any storm;
It was true: low concrete walls wedged into the rock wall.
The interaction amongst us was wondrous for me.
I was invited by one--a woman of about 40--
To visit her and her childrens' Marshfield home someday.
She was lovely, friendly and sympathetic towards a young man.
Eddy and I stayed and slept on the floor during the night's storm.
Next day, we all eventually said goodbye
And I waited in my heart to make that intriguing visit.
Frank Maurer 22 January 2023 1120 AM
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