Oceanic Greed

The aged wood of the boardwalk echos hollowly, but has a damp undertone from the left behind wet footprints of the day.

We thud forward in silence, commenting trivially on the nights happenings when my attention is slowly stolen.

Silently, the night wind picks up the lost sand on the boards and sprinkles it across my feet, desperate to take my attention.

Uncaught by anyone but me, a waver in her voice in the prime of her retelling of her day,

Did she notice my distraction?

In a final attempt at shallow conversation we turn to talking about the weather.

But, the wind is greedy.

It whips the sea oats until they shiver and sigh, an eerie sound.

Silence.

Our final few steps on the board walk crunch. Crunch until. . .

Finally, our eager toes lick the sand, cooled by the wind and stars.

Naturally, unknowingly our toes dig and burrow in joy,

reminiscing to the innocent barefooted days in the sand-box.

The wind, eager again for my attention, breathes down my spine.

We quicken our pace.

As we drawn nearer to the ocean, the mist scares the cowardly wind away.

Sprinklings of salt, water, and sand speckle upon our sun kissed skin.

Laughter.

We lay down in the sand, each lost in our own worlds and look to the deep heavens above.

Reflections of depth and light, moon to sun, space to sea.

The peace found only in the bare nakedness of a bed of sand and friends.

Open.

Sheltered.

Free.