By Joel Holmberg
The strand, caught between the flat sea and red cliffs, was narrow. Barely perceptible wavelets lapped the dry sand. The white ribbon stretched straight ahead without curves or coves and gradually compressed to nothing. The clay cliffs were slippery and unmanageable. The air itself was still with no updrafts for birds to explore what lay beyond the cliffs. They avoided the strand. In the back was only another compression of lines. Keep moving! Keep moving!
Joel Holmberg, former resident of Martha’s Vineyard for 26 years as a ceramist, and active in many other endeavors, has turned his attention to poetry, short stories, and monologues while living between Italy and Finland for many years.