Strange Things Below The Surface

“The ocean was strange and foreign to him…”

He stared out of the windshield at the oppressive fog with dissatisfaction. The ocean was strange and foreign to him. The day had offered a rare opportunity to see it in person but, as it was, he could barely see the front of his pickup.

Reluctantly, he climbed out of the cab — his beanie covering his ears and his hood pulled over his head — and began walking towards the vague outline of the observation tower: a formidable, timber-framed structure built by the Army Corps of Engineers.

The fog’s dense stillness bent time and suppressed sound. The man stood in uneasy awe listening to the waves break and froth along the far-reaching jetty. He noted, with a degree of satisfaction, that there was a compelling depth and mystery to the experience. He continued listening for a time, but it wasn’t long before his legs and feet complained of their rigid idleness and he began to wish for the warm shelter of the cab.

As he walked back to his pickup, he found his step lacking commitment. His sub-conscious nagged at him to overcome his trite discomforts, to free his feet from their leather confines, and let them feel the cold of the sea. How often, after all, did he have this opportunity? He came to a stop in the middle of the parking lot with an…