Rowen McCoy
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On Near Shores
He hunches by the tide marker, a battered plastic meter stick secured to a boulder with chicken wire and mechanical-grade duct tape. He watches it for almost a full two minutes, the tide lapping gently against his toes, cold water leeching warmth from the soles of his feet. It confuses his findings somewhat- though he always measures at the same time of day, at the lowest ebb of the tide. The water has receded some two or three millimeters. It’s been receding steadily, the past few weeks. He stands straight, holds up three fingers to the figure sitting in the dingy off the opposite shore. Once he feels she’s seen him- it’s too far to be sure- he changes his three fingers to a thumbs-down, then holds his hand flat and wiggles it in what he assumes to be the universal symbol for somewhat. She appears to understand him, giving a double thumbs up in response.
By Rowen McCoy5 years ago in Fiction
