Ozone, seaweed – my nostrils are assailed; my toes dig into the warm sand, caress each granule, rocks fragmented, ground down by millions of years of wind and surf. On my sun-kissed skin I taste salt, iodine.
I lean back and take in the symphony as the waves roll in, roll out – cymbals followed by kettle drums followed by base; in the lull the strings come in – gentle, understated; a chorus of gulls explores syncopation.
I stare blindly at the far horizon and see barques, barkentines and brigantines, fading in, fading out.
Somewhere deep down, Neptune is smiling, “Job done.”
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ weekly 100 word challenge. Try it.