At Rehoboth Beach the tourists are still one month away. Sage and I walk barefoot across the boardwalk to the bathroom where she puts in my hand nine pebbles, one by one, each a treasure. Later she will drop them all for the sake of a broken bit of crab shell, but for now I guard them outside, leaning against the rail, looking at the red tanker hanging there to the left, out on the horizon. The sun warms my arms from the wind's chill. I wait. I will remember this moment. Today I am thirty-two years old.
At Rehoboth Beach the tourists are still one month away. Sage and I walk barefoot across the boardwalk to the bathroom where she puts in my hand nine pebbles, one by one, each a treasure. Later she will drop them all for the sake of a broken bit of crab shell, but for now I guard them outside, leaning against the rail, looking at the red tanker hanging there to the left, out on the horizon. The sun warms my arms from the wind's chill. I wait. I will remember this moment. Today I am thirty-two years old.
No comments:
Post a Comment