New cars, new clothes, new phones, new shoes, new bikes, new boards, but holding up the facade is the promise of the natural. Elements. The rest a crumbling,salt-stain drip of iron oxide. The weather wins. Even here amid the cubic zirconian lifestyle of Newport. All that matters is the big green to your west and the path you must take to actually get there.
Pier is alive. Nervous eyes as the crowding for spots is in bloom. The fish are running. Get them now. Baited hooked hang in profile, into the depths. Not one but several. Lines jerk and twist. Scramble. Screaming. “I want to see it!” Below are the brown missiles turning flips out of pure enjoyment. Whiskers up, a smile. What do they make of us fragiles suspended in the air. Our only contact with their world via the hum of fiberglass and monofilament.
I might look back on this someday and realize how lucky I was, but for now I just move on.