….. on the bench I sat and watched the white water….. “on the bench” first rather than “I sat on..” as the bench was there before me and it seems only fair…. the white water offered me calm from the storm even though in itself was the storm…… in the lightless of dark I could only discern the sine waves of surf each hurriedly beaching itself as high as it could up the shore holding on for dear life to the strand as the tide drags it back again into the bleak……. I kept my limbs close, tightly wrapped around me not daring to glimpse at my watch though it was too dark to read it anyway…… could taste but not see the salt that was turbulent tossed into juggles of air no doubt coating that beach that was keeping itself shrouded in grey of a hue almost black but not quite…… the skin of my face took the brunt, when I could I kept my eyes closed where oddly enough I’m sure I was able to see more… (sea… mor)…… nobody stirred as no one was there except me and as I am no one then I didn’t count……. this was the scene through the salt and my rain-lashed lashes…. a scene that as dark with its co-starring storm acted out with aplomb never missing a line nor needing a prompt nor tripping on words, though any words that ever there were went unheard in the enraging rage that the sea was exhuming with nothing to stand in its way….. as on the bench I still sat leaving time to drown in the spray.