I walk along Cannon Beach at low tide.
The sea lazily laps my legs.
The tawny sand firmly packed, pockmarked
by seagull prints. On the hunt for food.
Tiny ***** scurry past; orange-pink
starfish cling to black boulders,
plump, distorted sea creatures
inured to the tidal pull.
A lavender-red sky signals twilight.
I head toward Haystack, a towering,
natural icon of coal-black stone.
Ahead the path is strewn
with flotsam and jetsam.
I scan the horizon,
then unhappily turn back.