Sketch of Bluepoint

Blue the dominant color: in the wavelets pulsing to shore and the growling of the cars; blue above the black strip of the horizon and mixed with the last gasp of twilight.

The sound of the reel chitters its teeth. Line and hook in the bay wait for fish.

—Good luck my friend

—Godbless, you too.

He trudges off the platform, through the pavilion, to the parking lot his flip-flops smacking the planks.

The other, his elbows on the rail, lolls and smokes a cigarette above the water. The ember glows orange against the dark blue of the night.

Behind the waters mumble. They break on the shoreline. Blending with the mumbles of a group, the waters break apart.

Amber lights the dock. On the bay it wavers amber.

Dogs bark; cars park and leave; footfalls shuffle on the parking lot. Cars shine the ghost of their headlamps across the pavilion. Then they wheel backwards, peel away and drive into the blue. The red of their brakelights emit like fireflies.

The sky: a heaventree hung with humid blue stars. Aircraft flicker and the sighs of the land mix with the sky.

The half moon reigns tonight. She infuses the water with its blue element of darkness. Under the moonlight the waters ebb.

Twitching, speckled, a helicopter floats through the night between the ocean and the sky, alone in space with the waters below and the stars above.

The air tastes of flowers tonight. The musky white of laurel floats over the dock like a perfume and tangles with the reek of baywater ascending from the planks.

The odor of cigarettes mixes with the starlight, and the starlight moves with the waters, changing and spiraling one over other.

Blue, blue, blue.

 

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