Keith Milne
By Keith C. Milne
Ken looked out over the vast expanse before him and felt the cool breeze blowing through his hair. The sun was low in the sky. It’s long arm reached across the vast plain of the liquid tundra in a mosaic of orange and yellow and green and gray. A seagull flew past softly screeching to it’s mother. The sound of the waves crashing on the shoreline had a soothing sound and a cleansing quality.
The waves were moving towards the shore in sets of three. Little groups of sandpipers were gathered at the waters edge eating supper. Their legs looked like little sticks. A wave crested. It grew in height taking in all the water from the shore. The sandpipers ran towards the wave. Their little stick-legs moved in a blur as they jack hammered the wet sand with their little stick-beaks digging for crabs. The wave broke. The sandpipers waited patiently until the water came within inches of their heads, then ran back towards the shore narrowly escaping the waves grasp and continued eating their supper.
Ken took in a deep breath of the salty air letting it fill his lungs to the bottom. He paused, holding it in, savoring the moment and the sensation before slowly letting it out. The warm sand embraced his feet and pushed up between his toes tickling them with each step. He looked towards the point. He could see the dark silhouettes of the surfers bobbing up and down. They were waiting for one more ride.
Ken sat down on his folded legs. He picked up a piece of driftwood. The bark of the wood felt soft like Maria. He looked at the grain. It ran it all directions across the wood.
Ken contemplated the lines. He could see the math and the lifeline. He turned it over and the equation continued, but the lifeline ended abruptly near one of the edges. He tossed it towards the surfers. It spun end over end and hit a big ball of seaweed. A thousand flies leapt off the seaweed. They buzzed over the surface of the ball in tight circles and landed on it again.
A fishing trawler moved past in the channel. The white water from it’s wake looked like fresh snow against the gray abyss that lay underneath. Ken could hear the low rumble of the motor. The sound waned as it was swallowed by the sea. It slowly turned towards the sun and grew small.
The wind became calm in the setting sun. Ken began to scrawl his name in the sand with his finger. K + E + N= KEN? K + E + N + N + E + T + H=KEN? His finger felt foreign. The sand packed under his nail pushed hard against the delicate skin underneath. I should floss it he thought. He chuckled at the idea. He rubbed his hand over the spot where his name was. Now the spot was blank like a fresh piece of paper. He looked out at the surfers. One of them had just caught a wave and struggled to stand up. Ken watched him get up on the board and ride the wave a short distance then cut-back across it and slide back into a prone position. The surfer began to paddle back out to the others. His motion was fluid like the sea and he slid effortlessly through the water.
Ken looked down at the blank spot in the sand. He noticed how the thousands and thousands of grains made one. One whole. He bent closer to look at the colors. Red, brown, white, black, yellow. They all made one. Ken sat up. One was all that was needed. Not one more. Not two. Not one thousand. Just one.
Ken sat and listened to the sea. He felt the grains of sand against his legs. He watched the movement. He tasted the salt in the air. He smelled the complexity of life. He was one now. He let his mind think of her. He knew she was there.
The wind blew gently through the stillness of the moment. The warm pocket marked it’s location and stood alone in the cool air as it past him. Yes she was here. She had never left.
