On the beach at Outer Cove

Binoculars are always working.
They sit there, on the stony beach,
waiting patiently for someone
to look through them. A father is
in his swimming trunks, calling
to his young daughter. Now he's
yelling out. What is it he's saying.
He's saying, Where are your ears?
Why do we throw rocks in the ocean.
The arc, the physical action of the
arm, feeling a rock, accomplishing
work, the satisfying plunge and
disruption of the swell.
We spent a night out in Broad Cove.
Had our photos taken underwater.
The seared bars across four hefty steaks.
I listened to a man who had turned
forty say he didnt care now what
people thought of him. It made us
all impressed with the recent
obituary photo of a friend. The
photo was twenty years ago, when
the friend was forty. He had completely
reinvented himself. We could too.
It's windy, grey and wet now. And
soon I'll be spending eight days
driving around the Avalon, living
in a tent.