“She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air.” ― Holly Black

SinkingIt is the twentieth of May and I am sitting/lounging at the seaside watching the grey/green waves billow & crash incessantly before me. It’s a gray & misty day. The ocean on a cloudy day collects a thick haze about it, inviting & soothing–not like the exhilarating, brilliant sky of a clear afternoon.

The beach is nearly empty–people are scattered about in distances far enough away from each other to be considered unsociable at best. A gull’s piercing cry crashes upon my ears, announcing his arrival. He soars overhead for a fleeting second, finds nothing of interest & soars off again in search of more promising persons.

People walking along the shore look like water nymphs floating over the waters–an eerie, medieval quality about them. A crow attacks our bag of Sunchips, but R bravely wards him off by clapping her hands and chasing him. He backs away menacingly & is joined by a friend. They consult together. The two scamper off in search of less attentive loungers.

The crow is back, unable to avoid temptation. R moves the chips closer to her chair & shoos him off. Really, the nerve of some birds! Two helicopters fly overhead, a good two hundred feet away from the shore. They are likely from the Fort close by.

Two children shriek & scream with delight as they wade in the water with their father. They are too young to care how bitterly cold the water is & too bold to care about how high the waves go before crashing down. Brave children.

A little bird–I do not know the name–stands close to the water’s edge. He digs with his long beak into the sand looking for crabs. The tide comes in & he scurries away, as if afraid wet feet would be the death of him.

The sand close to our resort is finer and softer than any I’ve encountered before. E says it’s imported. I don’t know if I believe her. I want to know why you would import something every beach has an abundance of.

There are paddle boarders further out at sea, enjoying themselves immensely, it would seem. I would be afraid of capsizing & being eaten by sharks. Irrational fears.

Have you noticed how your vision makes the world appear grey after being exposed to the sun for a time? Everything looks less real–like you’re watching the world through the lens of a camera’s filter.

E is here to relax from her 9-5 adult job. She is asleep in her chair wrapped in a sarong & beach towel. R is here to tan & read & watch people. She pulls out her Nook and reads Steven King’s The Shining. I am here for the now green/blue foaming waves of the ocean whose majestic roar never fails to capture my heart.

I finish Dodi Smith’s I Capture the Castle with a sigh, wishing this glorious, quiet, windy afternoon could be captured & returned to again and again.

Goodbye, Ocean. Hello, D.C.


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