Expecting the Hurricane
The crowd gathers in late morning, some with surfboards, some in wet suits; others are merely curious. Waves are still quiet, though they visibly begin to swell as the sun arcs, then ticks down the clock of sky.
Then, all quickening in the air ceases, and a benign radiance settles on the silver-gray sea. Seagulls and terms hover, hoping for the usual free handout.
Word comes down from the National Hurricane Center: storm watch cancelled: Edna is predicted to stall then move north-northeast, out to sea.
"Bummer," someone says. Everyone goes home, downcast.
surfing the crests,
corresponding to a brain