Сумерки

           I’dbeentothebeachesaroundLaPushmanytimesduringmyForkssummerswithCharlie,sothemile-longcrescentofFirstBeachwasfamiliartome.Itwasstillbreathtaking.Thewaterwasdarkgray,eveninthesunlight,white-cappedandheavingtothegray,rockyshore.Islandsroseoutofthesteelharborwaterswithsheercliffsides,reachingtounevensummits,andcrownedwithaustere,soaringfirs.Thebeachhadonlyathinborderofactualsandatthewater’sedge,afterwhichitgrewintomillionsoflarge,smoothstonesthatlookeduniformlygrayfromadistance,butcloseupwereeveryshadeastonecouldbe:terra-cotta,seagreen,lavender,bluegray,dullgold.Thetidelinewasstrewnwithhugedriftwoodtrees,bleachedbonewhiteinthesaltwaves,somepiledtogetheragainsttheedgeoftheforestfringe,somelyingsolitary,justoutofreachofthewaves.

           Therewasabriskwindcomingoffthewaves,coolandbriny.Pelicansfloatedontheswellswhileseagullsandaloneeaglewheeledabovethem.Thecloudsstillcircledthesky,threateningtoinvadeatanymoment,butfornowthesunshonebravelyinitshaloofbluesky.

           Wepickedourwaydowntothebeach,Mikeleadingthewaytoaringofdriftwoodlogsthathadobviouslybeenusedforpartieslikeoursbefore.Therewasafirecirclealreadyinplace,filledwithblackashes.EricandtheboyIthoughtwasnamedBengatheredbrokenbranchesofdriftwoodfromthedrierpilesagainsttheforestedge,andsoonhadateepee-shapedconstructionbuiltatoptheoldcinders.