This is my own picture so I am allowed to use it! Feel free to use it!
It is Plymouth, MA.
It's bitter cold. Not the kind that makes you shiver, but the kind that makes you feel like tiny needles are poking into any exposed skin leaving marks where other needles will bite in deeper. The water is blue and choppy, but I can't tell if its a pod of whales, right whales, or just fish. Seagulls and seals brave what I'm sure is iceberg cold water. It's cold enough to numb my toes in July, I can only imagine what it would do in March even with the bright sun. Rocks litter the beach, white, gray, brown, red, pink, rust. They make it hard to walk in my boots, but then I hadn't planned to come here to this empty parking lot, to this shuttered restaurant. The jetty to my left is braved by a lone kite flyer. The lime green breaks the watery blue of the sky, its brightness making up for the lack of color in that small part of the sky. Giant mounds of rocks look like piles of shit left by some giant creature unknown to me. Perhaps it is my life, representative of what I've amounted to, what I've accomplished. They are too large to be washed away or even covered by high tide. Even the fierce nor'easters won't wash those rocks away. They are as permanent as the ocean behind them and as steadfast as the rocky beach before them. I stumble back to my car. No answers here. Only freezing fingers and ears. A wind whipped face and a pile of rocks. Solid. Unmoving. Ugly.
Heather Town Neck Beach Sandwich