Yesterday I went to the beach with Andrew, who writes poems, and watched the waves from inside his car.
It was cold, and grey, because it is almost winter, and the waves were crashing and violent and I wanted to be inside the ocean and be a part of it.
I had no idea that winter tides had so much more force and ferocity than summer tides, and I stared for a long while, mesmerized at the way the water crashed up on the rocks.
There were a handful of surfers out there, tumbling in the waves, little black specks bobbing up and down and occasionally popping up to ride the crest of a waves before it spread out too thin on the beach.
They looked so cold, and I thought about how the only time I have ever been comfortable enough in the frigid Atlantic Ocean to stay in it for longer than an invigoration three minutes was when the temperatures were in the 90s the first week of school this past September. I also thought about that sweet movie Point Break.