Cliff Wise
2 min readSep 6, 2021


Photo @jrlawrence


Long Summers on Cape Cod

A beach by the loop

At the end of the street

Hardly ever anyone there

Except for me every day

It was not raining

My entertainment was what

I could make of it

There was no little league or

Basketball games with friends

In the driveway back home

Just the beach and all the creatures

Who lived there with their fears and

Curiosities about me and me about them

It turned out I was fantastically bored

So I got my grandfather’s hoe from the garage

And built walls to hold back the tide

I toiled without the concern or commentary

From the adults who watched from afar

Only to see if I was still there

The quiet kid on the beach moving sand

After awhile I became another backdrop

And faded almost from view

Funny how moving sand morphed into

Moving dirt as I aged travelled

And lived in all sorts of places wanderers

Travel to and live in

Now chased by the fantastical boredom of work

And the material things that clog

Our time taking care of them

Some of mine were always tools

To shape and move the soil

Landscaping they call it

And as I move I leave behind gardens

Walks and ponds but it’s not about that

It’s about moving the dirt

Getting back into the groove on that beach

After all it’s not what it is

It’s what you make of it



Cliff Wise

Book series - Anxiety is not Depression ‘Bring Order to the Chaos’, ‘Daily Reader’, ‘Questions and Answers’. The view from the inside about these disorders.