All the ocean waves stilled mid-arc, at dawn in fading into light from dark. A light glint telescoped skyward and down that beam slid a solitary frozen gull, also stalled mid-flight, mid-screech, mid-shit on a frozen early walker with a metal detector mid-wave too, mid-beep. The sound stopped too, not a fade or echo, a hard stop. Some other guy on a pier (old salt type) froze mid-cast, leaning back from now to past in a cacophony of clam chowder breath and musty tobacco. Now the oldies station falls quiet too, now the lifeguard towers and ice cream stands and umbrellas and pickets all topple, now the sun is hollowing inside out.
Now the sun is hollowing inside out, that new light the last the world could see as early in the sky it drifts away to dark. And in the silent summer left behind the people rise for morning one by one, rise for morning one by one and burn their houses, long farewell to seasons past.
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