Of course, it depends exactly where you are in relation to the wind
Standing by Forty Steps on the Cliff Walk above the surfers patiently waiting for the westerly wash of rideable waves you can smell the ocean emptying into Easton's Bay losing strength and resolve after passing Boat House Gully waving hello to Doris' memory of long ago parties at Rough Point when people sent printed invitations and expected an RSVP
The sea is a surprise of smells a bouillabaisse of dead fish and old tales told wisely, if not always truthfully. Accuracy in the eye of the storyteller
Of all the senses, the smells of the sea give you the keenest thrill your empty pillow in late morn still holding your yet to be delivered promise of moisture and pleasure favorably compares to the salt smell of waves in dance on sand stages
The deserted beach after a long and burning Sunday, filled with left-behind sand toys and the smell of lotion still pungent with protection, stays with us from youth to old age
You never forget the places where your heart was broken and finally put back together on a quiet Summer night at Castle Hill, overlooking Ram's Head pointing the way to the lights of Southwest Point at the southern tip of Conanicut Island
My eyes have dimmed and my back is bent but my sense of smell remains a constant partner Keeping me filled with the essence of you and our beautiful Island both of you still wondrous...
from: "NEVER GETTING TO THE END OF YOU" Copyright (c) 2014 by Ken Moldow