My hand moves along the surface, drifting on the foam, seeking where foam becomes water. Foamlets swirl tinily around the grooves that make up my fingerprint.

My fingertips break through, now definitely underneath. I can feel the profound difference between the tips, below, and the rest, above. But I cannot discern which is colder.

I create ripples that soon disappear in the movement of the waves. I can make no lasting imprint, have no effect on the order that is present, beyond comprehension.

A wave soaks the rest of my hand, unexpected. I close my fist, but my fingers cannot hold the sea. Coldness tingles up my arm, down my back. It is chilling but somehow comforting, cold but keening, a song in my blood. Like coming home.

I walk back up the beach, dripping what was the ocean and is now just water. I turn around, and say goodbye.

(150 words)

This entry was posted on Saturday, January 13th, 2007 at 23:38 13 Jan 2007 and is filed under Blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

Leave a Reply

Name (required)

Mail (will not be published) (required)

Website