Our suspicion growsas the tide rises.The path is gonealong with the beach,blocking our way.The marsh has disappeared,the sand a new brown,the sky a pale gray.Ice chunks lingerin the ever flowing waters.The bird cries are far out on the baywhere the ice banks end,where open water lies.Jump from island to island,making sure not to get splashedby the freezing salt water.Our dog runs out onto the icebergs,and then comes shivering backto our heels.The cold wind blowsand seems to push the tide in.The trunks of the pinestouch the bank,inches away from the sea.The sun hides,and the hills seem to growwith the shadows.The eyes of little crabscome from holes along the beach,and scurry to higher ground.This is high tide.