I'm inlet bound on an empty Coastal Highway
A serene, too-quiet stretch of pavement
Messages of hope are everywhere
"Stay safe friends; we miss you; God bless"
"See you soon; reopen in May; reserve now"
Deserted parking garages
Sit underneath vacant condo buildings
i spy the giant red claws of a mini-golf lobster
Silent neon signs without words
An empty convention center
Banners listing carryout specials
Traffic lights turning red for ghost traffic
"Delivery now available"
I'm missing my favorite places
People cluster and wait by restaurant doors
The Old Pro pirate peers through his spyglass
Flashing letters tell me of carryout specials
the wind is whipping down a deserted beach
Shrieking, scurrying, scavenging birds
Heavy cloud cover giving way to blue sky
A vacant, slowly rotating Ferris Wheel blowing in the wind
Tiny, stinging grains pelting against my legs
Delighted squeals from a small child
Squinting into the self-pay kiosk screen
The smell of Thrashers French Fries
Mournful, dull crashing symphony of the Atlantic
Errant, powerful winds pounce on me as I pass underneath the pier
Overcast, melancholy slate gray clouds
Seagulls evaluating my potential for food
An old dog with a patient, strolling man
Clouds parting to let the sun shine through
People huddle together by the surf's edge
A slow moving barge creeps by
The crackling, snapping of "park here" flags
Pools of seawater the ocean left behind
Silhouettes of soaring, feathered residents cross the pavement
the absence of time with no clock in sight
Climbing steps to the pier which are dusted with sand
listening to the eerie, mournful creaking of amusement rides
Tiny, persistent bird eyes are observing me with hope
i round the a corner of an alley into a strong, salty gust of wind
a large group of selfie-snapping teenagers
Kite weather perhaps, I think to myself
The crunch of tiny shells beneath my feet
A whale-shaped sign boasts of scrumptious seafood
An excited family running towards the waves
Interlocked fingers of an entranced couple
the slightly unsteady feel of shifting sand
I'm realizing seventy minutes have passed
An unwilling, reluctant walk back to the car
my shoes are heavy and thumping, full of sand
The echo of crashing waves begins to fade
Then... silence as I swing the car door shut
Time to head back to return to the real world
It's okay, I can go now. My soul has been restored.
community advocate • marketing consultant • voice for small business
classic car lover • salt life • believer that "together we accomplish more"
