Waves crashing
Snow gently drifts from the gray sky. Last night the wind howled and the waves crashed on the beach below the cabin. Now it's calm. I make my way down the path, climbing over downed tree limbs. I reach the beach and climb over the collapsed breakwater. I make my way passed recently re-arranged driftwood, avoiding the muddiest spots of the tide flats which I know would swallow my feet and possibly leave me shoeless. That would be fine in June. In November, not so much.
You were here with me in June. We bought oysters at the dock on the other side of the island and ate them here, along with good bread from the organic bakery in town and a bottle of viognier from the other side of the mountains. We laughed and ate and threw the shells into the water, just like people have done for thousands of years. Some shells didn't make it into the water and the seagulls dropped in to investigate, squawking with annoyance when the shells turned out to be empty. We almost threw a full shell to them to see what they would do, but at the last moment decided they just tasted too good to waste. We laughed some more and then made love behind the breakwater.
Now I'm here alone. You'll be back in February, and maybe we'll come here again. The waves will probably be crashing against the breakwater like we did in June and so we'll make love indoors. There's more snow coming down now, but I don't think it's going to stick. I walk right to the water's edge at the rocky part of the beach to see what's been blown in with the storm. Here and there I see oyster shells. I smile.
You were here with me in June. We bought oysters at the dock on the other side of the island and ate them here, along with good bread from the organic bakery in town and a bottle of viognier from the other side of the mountains. We laughed and ate and threw the shells into the water, just like people have done for thousands of years. Some shells didn't make it into the water and the seagulls dropped in to investigate, squawking with annoyance when the shells turned out to be empty. We almost threw a full shell to them to see what they would do, but at the last moment decided they just tasted too good to waste. We laughed some more and then made love behind the breakwater.
Now I'm here alone. You'll be back in February, and maybe we'll come here again. The waves will probably be crashing against the breakwater like we did in June and so we'll make love indoors. There's more snow coming down now, but I don't think it's going to stick. I walk right to the water's edge at the rocky part of the beach to see what's been blown in with the storm. Here and there I see oyster shells. I smile.