Beneath the planks the waters move in fast-changing ripples. A current of ripples pulse forward; counter, a current of ripples drift backwards. A blue grey green, the water in the marina moves against the boards of the pier.
Past the rail which looks out onto the bay, the waters glow with the sun. White and yellow fire shimmers off the wavelets, light spread across the open plain. Ascending, the sun moves beneath a thin mask of clouds. Its light burns through the clouds and knocks into the water of the bay.
Cool breezes descend from late summer day. They swoop over the morning bay and the boardwalk, tangling with the rigging of the boats. On the shoreline the waves continue to break over one another; overlapping, each break emits a sigh.
The planks of the boardwalk, weathered gray and stuck with green, feel soft underfoot. As one treads over these planks they neither creak nor moan. Copper nails rust in the wood, corroded by the air of the bay.
Tall black lamps, spaced every fifty feet, rise off of the boardwalk. Their empty metal cages fill up with the gathering sunlight of day. At night they shine above the waters, putting an amber glow into the waves.
Seagulls, floating dreamily into the empty sky, call to one another. Their yellow beaks open with their call.
Drifting and tugging, the waters move with vigor from the bay to the marina. As they enter the cove the waves flatten. The tall rough peaks flatten into a smooth water that the wind indents. Slowly the tides change, and the marina fills up with gray green bay.