6am-7am Labor Day Free-write
The sea is new, silver, drawing crude mountains on the shore outlined in broken shells as it descends upon and laps the sand - the froth of its childish excitement gushing out while it trips over itself again and again.
The sun is less humble today: ascending implacably and anointing the sky with fire, cloaked thinly in wisps of clouds. Steady movement toward its direction is visible all around. Every bird seems to be journeying East, the young waves dance in jubilation of its arrival, and I cannot take my eyes off of it and its sheer cowl.
My feet are pushed into the silk sand and I remain fixated. The sea breeze pushes my bangs aside with the smell of a million secrets trapped below and kept from me beyond. It softens and curls each strand and calls goosebumps to my arms with the consistent realization of how much I do not and cannot know. It’s a mistake to call this ocean new, but it feels like everything has been born today with this sun.