Description: I'm writing more than ever and I love it! :)
York Beach, Maine -------------------------------------------
The oceanís sweet mist rose in the
hot July air. That morning we woke
in New York City, where taxi cabs
were still honking through traffic.
The waves crashing against the rocks
provided a different silence. We sat
in beach chairs meant for hotel guests.
I breathed Maine air. Your air. We
were one more mile closer. But on that
beach in Maine, sitting in chairs not
meant for us, it already felt like home.
and as a kid being whisked away to Vermont for the summers...
i felt i wanted to move there..i was not a city boy...i liked grass, pasture, hearing the birds, the frogs, the farm sounds...
and in moments now...i go back there in my mind...the peacefulness of it, the black eyed susans...
i seldom go back to the Bronx, in my mind..and not at all, otherwise..
this poem speaks to me...the conflict of being from two places at once, of feeling two places at once...
I just liked how you were one place and then BAM you were in another place and that first place seemed so long ago and the beach seemed like home. It's kinda like my whole move from texas back home. and there is really nothing like Maine air on the coast...thats for sure. have a good one!!
niec little write here. i like the the last part especially, taking possesion of the chairs. i also like the contrast btw ny and maine. my only nits would be find other words for 'sweet (line 1) and 'hot' (line 2).