salt air

So we walked out to the edge of the land, far out from the full coast, held by the temperate late Atlantic. Boats in the bay, every house losing its slow fight with salt air. The same with people's faces, or how you tell the difference between a townie and the folks in for the weekend, the week, or at most the summer. A glamorous way to demarcate your allocated time, out on the edge of the world, where the end seems both close at hand and never further away, what comes after east.