. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

alone

.
Alone, he stands on the ocean’s shore, the one they named for peace. The cool briny breeze sweeps his face and he returns to now. He looks down at his watch and wonders what happened to the last forty minutes. No matter. It doesn’t matter, really. Nothing does now. 

He walks back to the SUV, or the, the ... what is the politically correct word for it now? He forgets. He forgets most things these days. Except for Sam. Sam is always with him, there to remind him of what he had.

From the vast sea lifts a sudden gust. He turns to face it, welcomes its true-grit force against his weak spirit, hoping to capture some of it.  And taking in one last breath of salt air, he turns toward the brush, says, Come Sam, it's time.
.

4 comments:

Oddyoddyo13 said...

This was a very poignant moment. I wish I knew who Sam was!

Carol Blackburn said...

Beautifully written, I get the feeling Sam is the dog that belonged to him and his lost love.

Anthony Duce said...

Like this a lot, a good story. I can almost fill in the rest.. I love the loss of time when looking over water. I do the same, especially in a stiff breeze.

Marjolaine Hébert said...

Thank you for reading,for sharing your POVs!