There is great comfort in the rain. Hood up. Hands buried. Cocooned and drifting – puddles rise and serpentine the way.

With time to spend, you take the fading path. Stepping over fallen tree and bending under arching limb, you trod abandoned ground.

Wind and salt diminish growth, you tower among the stunted trees. At end, where path gives way to open air, you lean, weight against wind, exposed on edge.

They break everywhere: the waves below. Barrelling, closing, ebbing, swirling, cresting, falling, churning with sand and foam. The beach wiped clean by undertow – no trespassing today.

A slick black head appears. Her nose pointed windward, then diving, til she bobs again. Is that play or something more? 

Wind everywhere – the only sound to reach your perch. You waver, eyes squinting, looking out as far as you can see. Feet rooted, lenses speckled, overseeing chaos.

Imagine falling overboard. Boots filling. Mind spinning. Gravity pulling. Pitched by waves you cannot see. You reach, and find nothing.

Water floods lungs. Ocean smashes in all directions. Cold with no concern. You let go – surrender – sinking breathless and heavy. 

Lost at sea so close to home.

Turning away, wind at your back, you return to stunted woods. Wind quiets. Lighthouse signals: beacon built for rescue. 

You step back over fallen tree, bend out from under nested pines, and feel the rain.