Early Storms

Stepping out of my truck onto the soggy sand, I grab my rain jacket and quickly pull it onto my body. The cold South wind cuts through my clothes like a knife cuts through butter. The wind carries the rain horizontally into my backside as my hands furl from the slight discomfort.

Without a soul in sight, I say to myself, "Feels like Fall is here..."

It was a gloomy day on the Mendocino coast. The sky and sea were of the same stormy grey. The only difference was that the ocean was sprinkled with whitecaps from the offshore wind. Continuing down the sandy trail, I try to avoid the puddles that obscure the pathway. It doesn't help. My efforts are in vain, and my Vans become soaked. No longer caring, I continue down the path with puddles and all.

"I need a pair of rain boots..."

Making it to the headlands edge I find the familiar log with the engraving R.I.P Frank. Perching myself upon the log I scan the shoreline for any rideable waves. Minutes go by as I stare out at the ocean. I'm hoping to see something rideable even though I already know it's not going to happen.

 Soaked and cold, I accept defeat that I won't be getting any surf today. I tell myself it will be here another day as I step back through the puddles.

"Man... it would be awesome to have rain boots..."