The tide rolls in. A crescendo of sound rises, as waves crest and crash against the fine sand of the beach in a roar. The last sunlight reflects on the water as the sun dips below the horizon. A sea breeze picks up, its whoosh a counterpoint to the crying gulls scouring above the shore.

The wind has no answer. It blows on, indifferent to my need for counsel. The water offers no advice. It’s surf flows to and from the turf without regard for my dilemna. I stare on after the sun has set, apathetic to the gathering twilight.

Continue reading at Frank J. Tassone