Watching.
Pondering what I see.
Regretting what I don’t.
From the beach, I stare out at the sea. It’s the season for boating; many dot the water’s surface. The upward reaching masts disclose their presence.
The silhouettes of the masts glint in the evening sun, another day is ending. Occasionally the masts seem to touch, some only for a moment, some for more. A beautiful sight, yet haunting.
I am not the only form occupying this beach. Off to the south is my boat, a prized and valuable possession. It is unused, a tragic symbol of my captivity. I try to keep it in good repair, but it hasn’t been tested.
I spend too many nights here on the shore, contemplating the ocean. The rippling waves tempt me. Each time, they lap at my feet, attempting to persuade me to abandon all and plunge in.
I see too clearly what could go wrong. I’ve seen enough mishaps to know what can happen when not enough care is taken.
Storms crop up suddenly here. Without a skillful pilot, a boat in these waters is at the mercy of the wind and waves.
Today is not one of those stormy days. The peaks of the waves glisten with reflections of the sun. Such warmth penetrates even through the canopy of the island removing all traces of the night chill.
I pace my island. I always have tried to understand it, but each time I wander, I uncover new mysteries and singularities.
Striding, I complete my circuit. In the sand I see my footprints. Side by side, steps from my present and past. Two rows of footsteps.
Three rows of footsteps.
Four rows.
I start walking in the surf to stop the footprints, but the old ones are still there. The tide will get them when it comes in.
I can’t look at them anymore. I grab a piece of brush and sweep across all four rows. And again. And again.
Eventually, I’ve cleared farther than I can see. Only then do I stop. I walk back to the center of my clearing and stare again out at the sea. Too much thought.
I stand till the sun descends from its course in the sky. Then I leave. I don’t want to watch the boats tonight.
