Morning

The ocean is behind us, rolling and crashing through the fog. The river mouth is to the right, but the two do not meet The seasonal lagoon stretches in front of the mirage that is the amusement park. Tower 5 marks the end of the patrolled beach. It is the softest of mornings, people disappear into the thickness, and others suddenly emerge, like a magic show. The air smells of the wild sea--briny and beckoning. It makes me hold my head high, breathe deeply. Filling up and spilling over. How I loved to play that song over and over and over again. Filling up and spilling over, over all.