It was sunny on the beach. The West wind made things less than perfect, and blew my papers into the dunes. I let them go, like flightless birds, leaping over the yellow reeds. Nathan posed like the intrepid leader of an expedition, rubbing chin pondering grave things. I typed a inventory manifest on Emily’s portable type writer as she plodded to the water hefting a bottle of wine like a baby’s bottle.
I typed a poem and put it in an empty bottle, then walked to the shore as Emily charged the dunes in the opposite direction. Nathan’s silhouette still considered the possibilities. I gave a mighty heave and turned to leave. I heard Nathan, but the wind obscured the words. I looked at my bottle, which the waves had promptly returned.