End of the Pier

[Bill Floyd]

The ones who fish from out there are typically loners; old gaunt men with stretched faces, squat women wearing raincoats irrespective of the actual weather.  If they're not mumbling to themselves, you kind of wish they were.  You can feel the wood planks moving beneath your feet, maximum exposure to the currents below and the winds above, a pitiful joust into the Elemental.  Facing out to the sea, you ask yourself all kinds of questions.  Scanning back to the land, the lights in the windows of the houses along the shore seem warm and comforting with the tide drawing away at your back.

One of the old guys looked at me like he thought I might jump.  

[J. K. Langham]

Your writing is exceptional, where can I get your books!

[Mike Handley]

This makes me want to go out and watch people.

[Jeanette Cheezum]

We lost part of our neighborhood pier in  one of the last  hurricanes (Lynnhave Fishing Pier).

You've given me  another look at what goes on there.

[Toby Tucker Hecht]

It interesting that a description of a place told my someone in a sad mood is so different that the same place described by one full of joy.  This is a great example of #1.

[Robert Morschel]

It feels like he might have been right.  Very melancholic.

[Angela]

Sometimes the grasp of what is under one's feet looks less firm to others than it feels to ourselves - and who is right?  I loved this and felt you wobble a bit on those planks full of questions.

[Stephen Torelli]

A nice, but lonely tale; most are fishing but on their own and the onlooker, just as lonely. Great!

[Gita]

I like this as a postcard of a place both universal and specific. This pier could be on Okrakoke Island or Wilmington Beach or Gulf Shores. Some of the loners probably have chicken parts down on the bottom in a crab net. Well described. The only thing I question is, why would I wish they were mumbling to themselves?