Black Sand, Steam

The morning after the ferry I walked a black sand beach alone with a mountain steaming quietly behind me. I came for the water and stayed because I did not want to get back on a bus yet.

It is a strange coastline - sand that swallows footprints within minutes, a mountain venting heat like it is still thinking about something, more military history in the ground than anyone puts on a sign. I do not have a use for any of this. I am just noting that it is the kind of place that stays with you.

My mother, on the phone last night, asked if I found what I was looking for. I told her I do not think I was looking for anything specific. She did not believe me. I am not sure I believe me either.