19 February 2004 - 4:30 p.m. An hour earlier, the clouds had cleared just in time for the sun to set, and allowed a few minutes of blue-tinted light to push through to the frosty ground. The stars, surprised by being called to duty, seemed unprepared. Marks were missed, cues were forgotten, but no one would have ever noticed unless they had seen tonight's performance before, which of course, no one had. Down below, he walked away from the parked car, the engine clicking as it released its heat to the breath-revealing air. He expected to notice the aroma of sea-salt, but the water held it inside, afraid to open itself to the cold. A stone wall, six wooden stairs, and the sound of perfect emptiness drew him to the sand. He took his shoes off. The first few steps toward the water were soft, and warmer than he expected, and they helped him unfold a nearly-lost memory about chasing fiddler crabs when he was eight years old. Where the sea had stroked the beach, the sand became flat and smooth like the surface of a clay tile. His feet slapped against the frozen plane, hardly disturbing the grains at all. The particles clung to each other as they hibernated, wrapping themselves in salt and ice crystals which sparkled just like the relaxing stars. He faced the black horizon, reached out with his eyes to where the stars ended and the water bagan, and silently breathed a question that was too big to say aloud. He didn't expect an answer, but one came. The sea leaned forward, put it's lips on his forehead and quietly said, "shhhhhhh. . . shhhhhhh. . ." (1) Comments?