THREE: BY SOUTH OCEAN BLVD

I was thinking that somewhere far off an ocean must roar. But not with the sounds of the tides alone. It must roar with colors, - the hues of the water sometimes green and sometimes blue but more often than not a mixture of the two. Things jostle and jockey for position, and it’s these two colors that definitely make for interesting swirls, textures, and so on. I am not so much for the color red. Too flashy. I would even go so far as to say it is more often than not a vulgar color. Things that are red include blood and sports cars and fast-food signs. No, green and blue are the colors for me. Maybe a light orange. Who knows? But the sea. The sea must be there, and it is sour grapes I guess that is part of why I think of it. Someone else is looking from a balcony or even better, - from the ground, at verdant palm leaves getting kissed by the salty breeze. Ah. And the ocean provides this gestalt that is full of prowess. That is not to mention all of the things in there to ponder. I can hardly even go on to think about the piers at dusk,-say, - one on each side of those palms, - to the north a few miles, and to the south. Which one would I go to? Which one would we go to? The one to the North has a lighthouse. That all has its own mystery. Good, yes. But I think the one to the South should be chosen. Why? I don’t know. There are abandoned catamarans we could sit and rest on. There is a long bungalow of a restaurant with lights that cast a certain glow that reach out to the sand at night. It must be there. It must still be there. In fact I know that it is.