Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Storm
I spent the earlier years of my life, stands about a hundred feet back from the beach and a little more than a mile down-shore from Old Harbor. What we always knew as the Creek runs in there, with plenty of water, even at low tide, to ?oat my father's dories; and the ?awless yellow face of a dune used to stand up behind the house, she] tering us from the northerlies that pick the scud from the Atlantic, a mile back across the Neck, and spatter it in the bay at our front door. My father and mother still live in the house, but the dune has shifted to the westward and it is colder there on a Winter night.
My father and mother came from the Azores the Western Islands we call them - so they had a recollection of green country, but we children knew nothing but the water and the sand and the gray, crouching woods that run like a thread of marrow through the internal passages of the Cape.
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