A star over the Pacific is twinkling orange then green. The sound of the waves is steady and unnoticed, and then a loud wave hits the shore in a riff. An electric cable in a side street is sparking. The night has a gentle sadness, I think, lying in the hammock on the porch. But I’ve been reading Jack Kerouac’s Big Sur the last few days, and he says things like that about the trees or place.
We swam in the morning and drank coconuts on deck chairs, then had snacks for breakfast and read all afternoon. The army started patrolling through the back streets, just walking together, looking, and one sat down outside a store to eat something. When the sun was low we walked along the pinklit beach, avoiding the army, and had prawn curry with rice at a table on the sand.
Then we all trooped on back along the beach to our cabin, earlyish, up the lane past a family watching tv on their backporch, beside the sea.
A peculiar and small cloud or odourless smoke drifted over the houses along the shore, between the palm trees. G and I sat on the porchwall wondering about the night, the high waves, the sparking cable and the clouds. Then an orange light appeared in the sky and passed along the beach until it went out of sight.