It was always the first thing he woke up to in the morning.
The smell, lingering in the air, thick and ever present hung outside his home, waiting for him to begin his morning walk around the village.
Every morning he knew it'd be there, ready to invade his nose and pull him towards the coast. Light and frothy - it was never overwhelming. Rather comforting.
He didn't need to hear to rolling waves in the distance, crashing against the wharf to know it was there.
All he had to do was take a deep breath to know the sea foam had rolled in on the tide.
I wonder . . . does it smell like bay mud at low tide?
ReplyDeleteieyu, ilys.