Sunrise Fish and Clam Falling shacks painted barn red, tar rolled roofs and piled nets, barrels lined like sentinels, guarding now abandoned bulkheads. Vestiges of long gone enterprise, plying of trade among the bays, housing harvests of shell and muscle, now decayed upon the marsh. Once the soiled baymen's boots. left their prints upon the mud, now like his footsteps, the shacks are silent, only weathered wood is left to speak. ©2002 MCN

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