Turn the Night Tide

Beautiful but Unlikely

night tide

At night we’d sometimes sit on the beach across the street. The house was too oppressive, the lit-up air yellow and close. During good periods I could gingerly walk myself, tottering unsteadily like some bundled ancient being, at other times Ross simply carried me. It was a comforting thing to do, sitting on that beach. The dark ocean merged with the black sky, nature mysteriously veiling itself in the night; you could hear the surf crashing, but couldn’t see it, just an occasional silver fringe scuttling up the sand still warm from the earlier heat. We’d sit silently staring into this inscrutability, the night wind scouring our faces. Eventually Ross would leave me to my isolation and walk along the water’s edge, often for a long time until only his white shirt glowing palely marked his presence far up the curve of the beach. Boxed in a corner—the one thing…

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