Observing the Atlantic
The waves hiss and bubble, washing the sand.
I look out on the horizon that fades to orange.
The onshore breeze is scented of seaweed.
Seagulls wheel beneath the scudding clouds.
It is a cool day. I am dressed in jeans and sweatshirt.
The sand is cold and clinging to my bare feet.
The beach is deserted, save for a small crab.
I sit and stare at ships silently passing in the distance.
The morning sun spreads beams from behind a cloud.
A rotting wooden post leans toward the water.
Far behind me a truck passes on the quiet road.
I gaze into the endless expanse that is the sea.
Along the shore, palm trees rustle in the wind.
The sun breaks out and warms my face.
Perched on the eastern edge of America
I think of building a boat and sailing to the old world.
Waves whisper along the shoreline.
Golden sand as rippled as the water.
Foggy distance merging sea and sky.
Tomorrow as meaningless as a dream.
