The creaking boards, leading to the endless fog
The smell of salt
The crack of the waves, seem like a distant memory
The only noise comes from the boards and the birds
The smoke, white as snow, consumes me as I near the end of the peer
I could only stand and stare
I wrote this in 2019. It was really smokey from the forest fires and I took my motorcycle on a ride to the beach. I walked down the pier, sat down in the smoke, and wrote this. It was so peaceful.
