The waves slap the shore again and again. White foam crests burst into sprays of saline moisture. The sporadic cry of passing terns adds a staccato harmony to the rumbling surf’s deep bass.
I sat here more than sixteen years ago–at night. The last light of the moon passed behind the gathering rainclouds from the west. The same rhythmic melody of surf on turn. No terns at night, of course, so no harmony.
Now, I lose myself in the movement of wind and water. The years between visits flash before me: the wild-eyed uncertainties of a college student on exchange, the early struggles in the real world, marriage, our son’s birth, and our raising him to young manhood. It all happened so fast!
Another crash. Another splash of mist. Another wave withdraws. All that’s left is the smooth, wet sand left behind.
hot zenith
the sea breeze
dries my tears
for Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo prompt wave #writephoto
UPDATE: for Poets United Poetry Pantry #409
Frank J. Tassone 
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