95 - At the beach.
joneworlds@mailbox.org

The other  day I went on  a drive with my  dad. We
went  up north  of the  inlet out  to Chesterfield
Sound. I hadn't been out  there since I was just a
kid. There  is a  beach, and it  is so  super flat
that you can  walk a long long ways  when the tide
is out.  Popular spot for family vacations back in
the day. Now, there's barely anybody here, and the
cottages higher up on  the cliffs look all boarded
up.  But here and there on the packed sands, I can
see  things  left  behind from  the  past  summer.
Kites, broken tents, kids' pails, stuff like that.
I guess some few  people still vacation here, like
nothing's ever  changed.  And I sort  of marvel at
that resilience, even if a bit sadly.

My dad  and I walk  far out, even wading  into the
cold water when we finally reach its edge. Way out
like  that, you  can  see  the offshore  windmills
further out in the  distance. They're all still by
now, of course. They look  so huge and unlikely to
me.  Like,  how could  anyone ever have  worked so
well together,  to raise  things like  these?  Yet
here they  are.  But  you know, there's  a certain
elegance to  them even now, all  rusted and seized
up  though they  are. They  remind me  of trillium
flowers, fading late into their season.