July, July

Sunset in the summer sets the sky on fire. What starts on the horizon as a slight inclination of orange explodes upward in an artistic display of crimsons and tangerines. Then the colors wash away into deep blue and pinprick stars.

She walks down the sandy road, her feet clad in two different color flip-flops. The startling sunset is reflected back by the ocean as the tide comes in. It is the perfect day to be alive; she almost expects a soft acoustic accompanyment to begin a background melody.

She lowers her sunglasses and squints at the sharp horizon line.

The fishing boats aren’t coming in today. She knows this, and yet, she comes. And she knows that the fishing boats won’t be returning tomorrow, either. But she will come tomorrow, too.

Because one of these days, he’ll be coming back, tired and sweaty, but back nonetheless. Back with two feet on solid ground. Blue eyes and sparkling smile.

She comes, because when she sees the ship, she can stop worrying whether or not he will ever return.

View this story's 3 comments.