Recollections and Reflections
(I think I'll get back to this later. It's not finished, and I might write some other thoughts as well. I suppose I'll decide later.)
I had expected the cold. The ice gave it away, but the wind made it seem colder. I could only hope that if I moved, my blood would begin to flow.
I should have brought my scarf. I could picture it, brown and mottled, in a pile on my floor. I hadn't warn it yet; now, my neck was wishing for it. It only seemed appropriate in the weather; even the ocean, alluring from the car window, was a bitter foe in the wintertime. Summer seemed so far away. In summertime, the cool water was a welcome sight against unwanted heat and humidity. Now, as I walked closer to the coast, I could only imagine how close to freezing the ocean was. The waves were still moving, the tide changing, but no matter what the temperature I was sure that a splash of salty ocean would feel colder than the air above it.
There was snow on the steps. The wind had pushed the flurries against the wall of the walkway, so that the white was thick on the right, but thinner on the left, in the face of the wind. I stepped down gingerly, following the footprints before me. I followed directions that told me to "be careful." I followed the direction of the boy in front of me.
He was bundled up tightly, hood over his head, and in the incoming nighttime his entire ensemble looked much darker than it would have in the proper lighting. Patches of snow were spread across the rocky shoreline, and his footprints dotted them steadily as he made his way to the boulders at the edge of the water. From far away, we could both tell that the snow on the rocks had frozen solid.
I took out my camera. The viewing screen seemed too bright in this atmosphere, where everything was fading from vivid color into gray and blue. I took a picture, focusing on capturing the light reflected off of the water. It blurred only slightly. I took another picture as he looked across the water from several yards in front of me. The details were so vague that he could almost pass as a silhouette. I wandered slowly behind him, taking blue pictures before he took out his own camera.
* * *
I had expected the cold. The ice gave it away, but the wind made it seem colder. I could only hope that if I moved, my blood would begin to flow.
I should have brought my scarf. I could picture it, brown and mottled, in a pile on my floor. I hadn't warn it yet; now, my neck was wishing for it. It only seemed appropriate in the weather; even the ocean, alluring from the car window, was a bitter foe in the wintertime. Summer seemed so far away. In summertime, the cool water was a welcome sight against unwanted heat and humidity. Now, as I walked closer to the coast, I could only imagine how close to freezing the ocean was. The waves were still moving, the tide changing, but no matter what the temperature I was sure that a splash of salty ocean would feel colder than the air above it.
There was snow on the steps. The wind had pushed the flurries against the wall of the walkway, so that the white was thick on the right, but thinner on the left, in the face of the wind. I stepped down gingerly, following the footprints before me. I followed directions that told me to "be careful." I followed the direction of the boy in front of me.
He was bundled up tightly, hood over his head, and in the incoming nighttime his entire ensemble looked much darker than it would have in the proper lighting. Patches of snow were spread across the rocky shoreline, and his footprints dotted them steadily as he made his way to the boulders at the edge of the water. From far away, we could both tell that the snow on the rocks had frozen solid.
I took out my camera. The viewing screen seemed too bright in this atmosphere, where everything was fading from vivid color into gray and blue. I took a picture, focusing on capturing the light reflected off of the water. It blurred only slightly. I took another picture as he looked across the water from several yards in front of me. The details were so vague that he could almost pass as a silhouette. I wandered slowly behind him, taking blue pictures before he took out his own camera.
* * *