Wednesday, November 7, 2012
This evening's striped cravat is of worsted grey and seascape. Grabbing her father's old fisherman's sweater off the hook near the door, she walked down to the beach. The clouds were gathering angrily at the horizon, and the wind was ready and brisk. Further off, the pier was busy as boats were coming in and offloading their meagre catches; this storm had blown up suddenly. Her eyes kept scanning the jetty even as a cold rain began pelting her face. She pulled her hair back, twisting its length away from her face, and tried in vain to find his boat again in the distance.
Brought to Life by Nance at 9:24 PM