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beach

Moonstone Beach, California. A late afternoon in winter, the light low and silvered over the water. Waves arrive in long, unhurried rolls, breaking somewhere out beyond the shore and then drawing in close, hissing across the smooth pebbles as they retreat — a sound like rain falling in reverse, like something being slowly unspooled. Gulls call overhead, sharp and far, their cries scattered by the wind. Cormorants pass low over the surf without a sound. A gust rises, rattling the dry grasses on the bluff, then settles. The pebbles shift and click beneath each receding wave, a thousand small stones turning over and over. Somewhere down the beach, a dog barks once. The ocean breathes in, breathes out, and keeps on breathing, indifferent and steady, into the dimming afternoon.

Moonstone beach, California TomDoerr

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