It is about half past midnight. I have a Genesee Cream Ale in one hand and a cigarette in the other.* There is a full moon, with a nice crumbly swath of clouds slowly passing through its light, but failing at blocking any of the light. The rest of the sky is cloudless, with only the most persistent of the stars shining through the moon's glow. I am sitting on the second floor deck of a beach house staring out at the Atlantic. The waves, no more than fifty yards away, continually crash, slowly, imperceptibly receding unless you watch them for a few hours, continue their trek to low tide.
To me, this is what peace looks and sounds like.
I could sit right here for hours, but alas, I have to pick my sister and her husband up from the Philly airport tomorrow at 10.
That is ok though. I still have a week to grab hold of this ever elusive feeling.
*I am typing with my nose.
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