Perched on the banks of Stony Brook in the Cape Cod town of Brewster, Hay observes the stunning phenomenon of the annual run of the alewife, a herring that spawns in fresh water, enters the ocean as a fingerling, and returns to its natal pond. From the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the Carolina’s, hordes of alewives make the dramatic journey every Spring. For Hay, the run is filled with danger and beauty: “In terrible simplicity, the alewives were swimming toward the island gauntlet they would have to run, having a title, by their common, wild, and ancient advent, to all great kindled things.”