17 January 2021 - Horizon
An old man was walking slowly down towards the sea. The path was fairly long, cut through grassy back yards, skirted fences, and crossed several roads, but eventually it opened out directly onto the beach. He was about halfway down from his home up on the wind-blasted hillside. When he had bought the house, it had a clear view of the water, but several new developments had since cut off the good sight lines.
Back then, when everything smelled like fish and gasoline, it took him less than ten minutes to lope down to the water’s edge. It was a morning routine. When he had married, his wife joined him, and when she had passed, he continued walking to remember their walks together. This walk would take him an hour or more now.
The cane felt like a crutch, but it kept him upright. He passed a dog, and it barked a friendly, sharp hello. He tapped his response back with the cane, rattling the fence gently. The little animal was delighted by all this noise and ran giddy circles, still barking, as the man continued.
He was close now, close enough that the sea smell overpowered all else: wood, fertilizer, metal, rust, cut grass; everything faded to the background. Salt water danced and crashed before him as he made it down the last flight of aging concrete steps. The sand was damp from last night’s rain, and the tide was low, exposing rocks and seaweed.
The man settled into his favorite bench. The bench didn’t belong there, and it made little sense to place metal so close to the corrosive sea air, but when it had rusted and fallen over once, the man and his wife had saved up and paid for it to be replaced. The sun had been up for almost an hour now, and as the man stared through thick glasses, he could see dark ships drifting slowly into the blue horizon. His head slumped forward, and his chest was still.