About a Boys First Look at the Stars

I wanted to write something about a kid, a little one, maybe twelve or so. He’d be sitting at the edge of a broken pier jutting out crookedly above the ocean gulf. It would be nighttime. The wind would blow his hair over his eyes and he would smell the low decay of crustacean and salt. Sand would grind warmly between his fingers and toes. The glow of houses would melt with those of the stars above and his eyes would water in wide-eyed splendor. He’d clasp a knee with locked fingers and arch his head back, observing the deep indigo. He’d notice the dogs barking from the houses behind, the car whisking through some late lot, but mostly the sound of the water breathing in the beach. He’d notice his own breathing. He’d time his inhalation with the rolling peaks of the water. He’d lay back. He’d soon fall asleep.