The Coast by THOR Florence Oregon

• When ever I come to this place with its rolling sand dunes, twisted pine trees, and quiet people; I am filled with a calmness likened to a home coming. I often visit the same places: my old home where friends still live, the tree in the park across the street which was hit by lightning, or walking down to the docks at night. I remember one night when a friend Mellisa came knocking at my door. She was excited and insisted I follow her to the docks that night. I remember how cold it was; frost was just touching the glass outside, and the pavement had almost a slick feeling under the tires under my bike. As we neared the water she said, “I often come here at night, tonight everything’s wrong.”
• I parked my bike and we walked down the ramp to the water level; half way to the edge she stopped and pointed ahead of us. Ice lay on the mooring lines from the boats, yet they did not glisten in the light from the half moon because of the mist that flowed from the warm sea water, and flowed inland like some great ground fog from an early monster movie. Visibility was obscured in the crisp cold night, but not enough for us not to see the sea birds of every type lined along the dock, pilings, and boats. None were in the warm water like some great fear had beset them. As we came closer they stirred for a moment casting furtive glances in our direction, but returning to their vigil staring at the water in the inlet. No sound could be heard except the occasional rustle of feathers, and the rhythmic lapping of the water against the pilings, and rocky shore. Mellisa grabbed my arm and leaned close whispering in my ear, “There’s a shark in the bay. I saw it come up and take a bird earlier, and then they all moved here even as cold as it is.”
• We stood in stunned silence all to aware of the quiet surreal implication of the night until it became to cold to stand. We then backed away almost timidly so as not to alert the unseen death that lurked beneath the black water.

THOR