The Ocean

The rocks below the weathered bungalow rise from the water to meet the stilts holding up her tiny room. Gray rocks, glistening with the salty water into an iridescent silver. Round, smooth, soft. Molded by the ocean’s prehistoric hands. Cracks, fissures, open spaces between where water pours in, rushes out. Up and over the rocks. Around and out. The brief damp sand, covers her feet then is pulled from under her with each ebb. The salty air fills her with a moist satisfaction. In between these rocks the ocean calls her. And she answers.