Salt Musings [prompt]

he stands by the water
early morning, alone
it is like glass
not a soul has stirred
these are the quiet moments
the golden ones.
It is already warm, the air
is still, calm
he listens, watches the gentle waves
hit the beach and retreat –
one
two
three
and then another set
it is music to his soul
a balm.
It is all he sees –
he is lost in the repetition, the methodicalness –
he owns it and yet it owns him
controls him
brings him back from the brink.

II
the storm rages.
he is gone now
the lonely figure
the waves beat at the beach
anger, power
beats down
hard
heavy
it doesn’t relent
the oasis is now a trap.

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