AFTERNOON

 

Roy opens the truck door and the dog jumps out, spins around excited, looking for direction and a motive, making eye contact to figure out what's next, where are we going, what are we doing? Roy nods in the direction of the path that cuts through the dunes. And just like that. Gone. 

The men follow. The path leads to the beach. It's empty for miles in each direction. The solitary sea ahead of them. Subtle bars of sand break the rough surf of an incoming tide. In the distance, further down they see the dog stopping at all the dead stuff. The dog pauses then looks around and sees the two men. Then full throttle barrels down the beach towards them. Closer and closer, not slowing down. Not stopping until he pours himself into Roy who is crouched to catch. They spill together into a pile. A burst of sand and legs and arms.

 

 

“At no other time does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honey-sweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.”

Rainer Maria Rilke