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July 05, 2008
One Early Surf
The morning would portend greatness. The fog in the still dark. We started a cold fire in the charred black hearth of the living room. I could see your breath; sitting in stiff leather chairs, eating the steel-cut oats made in cast iron over blue kitchen fire which flickered and popped, syncopated to the dribbling percolating coffee forcing out dark and pungent odors into the air of slow morning consciousness, we’d need it; out in the ocean, out in the cold, in the kelp and the fog of slowly awakening day, finally showing us the long grey ropes of a new swell built overnight, lined up like infantry, wrapping in upon our coast, curling off the point, pounding the cliffs, bulldozing the sand about; for us, the riders of these little shards of energy ever circumnavigating the globe: we but rejoice!
(words: me, pictures: found)
Posted by Nick at July 5, 2008 05:35 PM
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