Shea Sizemore

The Great Cormorant

With my eyes closed, I listen to the roar, crash, and hiss of waves against the hem of an endless horizon. I hear the quick happy chirps of children and an occasional shout from their parents. I feel the sand whispering past me as I sit on an old bath towel beneath the shade of a molded umbrella that flaps and pops in the wind like the useless sail of a marooned ship.