Day 85: Stand in the Gulf at night

It's the same ocean that I positioned myself  in front of all day this week.  It's the same ocean that I learned to swim, ski, catch mackerel, and cuss in. Its the same ocean I have jumped in from the top of boats, rafts, my dad's shoulders, and the cold December's edge. It the same ocean I left bloody from gashes caused by the long copper wire protruding out of the patched black inner tube.  I have seen this ocean bring to the edge big blue bloated jelly fish, sand dollars in perfection, thousands of dead fish, and once, sadly, gallons of oil. But somehow this familiar constant in my life changes at dark. It seems scarier and more intimidating and much much quieter. At night, the moon illuminates the blackness and mystery of this strange sea. Standing in this gulf, under stars that were so bright they made noise,  I felt anxious and afraid even though I was right where I had always been. With the absence of light, even the most familiar things become mysterious strangers.

Topless In front of the Gulf at daytime 1977 (?)