Ian Strickland

it was cold that day on the beach. A wind carried
with it a forbidding chill. I had planned a peaceful
trip to take in my first West-coast sunset but this
would be different. I never thought Los Angeles was
this cold. There in my New England winter jacket
and still clutching to keep it closed. The waves were
rolling in. Even through the changes in weather the
ocean remained. A greater presence than I or this
city really. Comforting and wrathful, come and go.
A cycle forms and is complete but has life longer
than any of us. I made my way in socks and shoes
through the sand to a lifeguard station. No one
needed saving today, not from the water. This
became my perfect spot and so I set in to wait. Down
below my eye caught the remains of a once great
castle. A merciless wind sent weakness off it dusting
the air to the sea. I remembered my own fortresses
built in similar spots though on beaches far away.
Now adult I can't really pinpoint where the child ran
off. One day I was playing with GI Joes the next I
was shaving every morning. It was slipping like
every grain from the ruin now almost disappeared. I
can't place exactly when I decided to leave the beach
but I would not see a sunset that day. I don't even
remember the sun going down. All I know is
suddenly it was gone and it was evening. Not the
perfect day for a sunset and not the perfect sunset. I
gave up easily and started back to my car looking
forward to its shelter and soothing song.