Fall

I heard the waves from the sidewalk of seashore Dr. Now I sit atop tower 52 gazing at an ocean turbulent and choppy, gray and white like the skies above.
- I feel, in a sense, not dissimilar to Holden Caufield, a lucky outcast who yearns for perpetual childhood amidst open field of rye. For me however, my open fields are more like vast expanses of water, graced by the occasional ride able wave.
2 Surfers have paddled out about 100 yards to my left. Not much to be surfed on this windswept stretch of beach i thought, nothing but wind-chop and whitecaps. These waves are like a One-Trick Pony, drop in to a hack, and that's that.

Newport is a ghost town with abundant parking.
Russel's surf shop is now on the better side of the street,
I like it.


I wondered to a lightly trodden piece of the peninsula, 19th st at the Bay, to rest my thoughts upon the tranquil waters of the harbor. The water was as a sheet of marbled streaked sky reflection of which there was no distinguishable discernment of the liquid mirror image reflection on the surface or the billowing sky aloft. Outside my car, the atmosphere was crisp with the feel of a moist welcome to the beginning of Autumn. The slight chill in the air was no more than a nip with the onshore breeze blocked by a barricade of private residence stretching several blocks deep to the sandy threshold of beach beyond. There slid the bow of a boat through the seamless channel, creating a series of waves that marched outward, away from the cutwater, as though they were elastic bands bending toward the exposed silt of the bay shore. I was left befuddled by the effect created by the incoming groundswell train making landfall. From the minuscule wavelengths coming ashore, there projected a series of barreling tube shaped breakers. No more than centimeters in diameter, the tiny barrels broke in perfect mathematical synchronicity. The way the swells trajectory traced a slight incoming angle to the land, the waves preformed an act of calculated physics, and bent lengthwise to wrap to the couture of the oncoming beach. I was left aghast when the churning curls swung past my place on the sand, and there emitted an audible gurgling, the sound of the lip of a wave slicing into the underlying water. It is the most unique sound in the universe, a hollow echo from the chasm of a holly cathedral of liquid cascading over itself to create a pocket of air, and a space of temporary existence within.
Oh, to be a minuscule rider on these waves, and to travel in the most perfect tiny tubes for seconds that would fold out like minutes along the inception of air and water.