The Old Man and the Ocean.

At midnight, the old man stepped out of the house, walked along the gravel path and sat on the bench looking over the bay. He couldn’t sleep, so it didn’t really matter that it was past his bedtime.

 

He wanted to feel the night breeze against the bare skin of his arms, on his forehead.

 

On the other side of the bay, in many ways also the other side of his present, the lights of the village reflected off the dark sea. 

 

He closed his eyes and listened to the gentle waves as they settled on the soft sandy shore.

 

He lay down on the bench to feel more relaxed and imagined himself as a small pebble, rolling in the surf.

 

The next morning, the sun coming up over the western cliffs woke him. Although the bench was hard, he had slept well.

 

A new day was beginning. The tide was out, so he climbed down the steps – counting every one - to the beach, and searched for shells.

 

And then he stripped off, and swam in the warm and chilly ocean..