He’d driven along the parkway or was thinking of it—he wasn’t sure. At Perth Amboy he’d roll down the window for a brimful whiff of ocean air. There kid sister waving her arms in the surf— come ride the waves…. The sun hides the water’s dark depth and sparkles between foam mats. Then spray spews like popped champagne. They move out past the hard shells jabbing at their feet, feel the drop-off and float on their backs, watching sky, ears water-muffled, waiting for the next surge. The waves were theirs… Again and again child moxie masters the ocean tumbling, a taste of salt, riding in the maternal bath against beach slope, landing belly-first, reaching for the dune toe from the swells of incoming tide. Time passes between waves. Today they walk to the shark river, slower-stepped, each foot settling on shiny black rock, pausing with intent. Gulls gather starboard on the day-beacon near the jetty’s breakwater edge. Atlantic horizon gives way to sky and they see time’s long stretch, scattered blue light on canvas, sailboats reading the sea-breath, arched mainsails snug against a south wind. Standing on old legs, they think of atoms in the sea’s aroma and wonder aloud if they’d breath even one bound bit of the air that had coursed the veins of children at play in this selfsame sea.
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