On the Beach

She stood on the sand, watching the water swell in rows rolling toward the shore. They reached top speed, crested, turned to waves crashed down on the beach. The foamy remnants never quite reached her feet. Birds, she was not sure which kind, white with black streaks under their eyes, rushed in and out of the surf, looking for whatever it was they were searching for.

A light breeze tickled her skin and played with her hair. Angela watched the horizon, wondering if she would find a boat. There were not many, if any, out once the weather turned this cold. Cold was not the right word; when chunks of ice bobbed endlessly against each other, then it would be cold. Autumn was in the air - the smells, the chill, the fewer hours of daylight.