Next to no-name towns
Here for a while
Before returning to the sea
Close your eyes and feel the weight climb up your shoulders.
Direct your attention to your skin. Each hair tells you its opinion of the ocean air carried on a sea breeze.
Which is really a wind.
Which is really a sister.
A sister called wind by its equal, the crashing waves.
Life all around. Carried in by the sea that is not a sea.
Met by more life living by administering death.
Tiny green life nearby but out of the reach of the more violent of the sisters.
Quiet in the face of an unending storm; the sisters together always in boiling discussion on the brink of eruption.
Quiet because of the surprising lack of human commotion. They all must be in California.
Until they move here.