Sailing far away from me
2021-10-04 23:49I don't have a picture of ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks and myself this afternoon in the rain at Revere Beach. His hair would be bluer than the serpentine waves curling in whitecapped toward the long ebb-tide strand of the beach. I would be holding on to the rain hat threatening to lift off my head like one of the few gulls we saw scattered among the stone-tumbled clam shells and crab carapaces and strands of green weed. The sky is softer grey than the sand and the air smells buffetingly of salt. We couldn't stay out very long, since the rain that had merely sprinkled all the time we were walking to pick up the car and running errands was now beginning to pelt down in earnest, but it was good to be near the water. Technically it is Broad Sound, between Boston Harbor and Massachusetts Bay. We got slightly lost in Winthrop on the way back, as is beginning to feel like a tradition, and when I rolled the window down the tidal air of the salt marsh came in. It was much better than the interior of the car, which we conjectured had been driven up from Connecticut by a chain-smoker and a stoner ghost. There was a plastic fork in the back seat. We hadn't left it there. The rain hat came home looking like a drowned crow—but I didn't, so it does its job—and my coat is hanging off the kitchen door in hopes of clearing the car smell, but I had to be out of the house early for an appointment this morning and the rest of the day was worth it.
rushthatspeaks and myself this afternoon in the rain at Revere Beach. His hair would be bluer than the serpentine waves curling in whitecapped toward the long ebb-tide strand of the beach. I would be holding on to the rain hat threatening to lift off my head like one of the few gulls we saw scattered among the stone-tumbled clam shells and crab carapaces and strands of green weed. The sky is softer grey than the sand and the air smells buffetingly of salt. We couldn't stay out very long, since the rain that had merely sprinkled all the time we were walking to pick up the car and running errands was now beginning to pelt down in earnest, but it was good to be near the water. Technically it is Broad Sound, between Boston Harbor and Massachusetts Bay. We got slightly lost in Winthrop on the way back, as is beginning to feel like a tradition, and when I rolled the window down the tidal air of the salt marsh came in. It was much better than the interior of the car, which we conjectured had been driven up from Connecticut by a chain-smoker and a stoner ghost. There was a plastic fork in the back seat. We hadn't left it there. The rain hat came home looking like a drowned crow—but I didn't, so it does its job—and my coat is hanging off the kitchen door in hopes of clearing the car smell, but I had to be out of the house early for an appointment this morning and the rest of the day was worth it.
