Thursday, May 19, 2011


Someday, when I am an old man, I want to sit alone on a beach on a cold day feeling the sand and the salt in the wind that comes in from out to sea. I want to walk and carry a walking stick with me that I can use to poke at the gray, gravelly sand from time to time. I will look down at the hole a crab has made and I will wonder what it is like to have to rebuild your home after every single tide. Somewhere, far out to sea there will be a lonely white cloud rolling across the sky. Pieces of sea-weed and feathers from a seagull will draw an uneven line across the beach marking the progress of the last high tide. There will be a rock that I will find to sit on, and I will wait right there with my thoughts, my doubts, and my loneliness – but I will not cry. After several minutes, I will get up and walk back to my vehicle. I will turn it on. Before driving off, I will see some old toy that I picked up for my son still sitting on the dashboard against the windshield. Before driving off, I will taste the bitter, coppery taste that intense feelings of regret or disgust sometimes brings with it, I will taste the saltiness of my own skin and my own tears as my eyes begin to blur with sadness. My heart will pound, and I will take a few deep breaths to get control of myself once more. Then I will turn the key and pull away and the waves will continue pounding the sand and the crab will come out of her home. The tides will shift and then everything will start rebuilding.


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