"on a rocky, nameless beach off the northern coast of newfoundland, the salty sea breaks flawlessly off awaiting kelp-covered rocks protruding out of the steadily rising and falling ocean. the air is filled with a smell of sea salt, a smell that is considered quite pungent by most, but pleasantly perfect to those who call this graceful scene their home. common seagulls swoop around in circles in the grey-blue sky above searching for a midday meal, a task done with ease here on the eastern coast. one suddenly dives into the always cold water and emerges with a shimmering sliver fish in its warty yellow talons. the beach, being not so much a beach as a collection of sharp rocks broken off from larger rocks broken off from larger rocks still, is vacant of visitors prone to the more aesthetically pleasing soft sandy beaches of the mainland. down here, if you walk barefooted along the ever changing shoreline you would have bleeding feet in a matter of minutes. a bed of jagged steel grey rocks makes for a poor surface to walk upon. further out, the masses of brownish seaweed gradually become visible as the tide moves slowly outward. tiny sea snails dot the surface of larger rocks as they await the returning comfort of their salty wet blanket. small red crabs that could fit in the palm of your hand skitter about seeking shelter from the glowing yellow ball of sunlight and from discovery alike. driftwood of every size and shape can be seen at every glance, knotty colourless logs that have been ashore for years even decades, unnoticed untouched, are now home to small creatures such as wood lice and beetles and ants, an ecosystem all in its own. nature takes its course naturally out here, without the tarnished touch of the industrialized man. dead things are not uncommon along the maritime shoreline either. a gull that strangled itself to death in a piece of loose lime green netting lies limp and tattered under a nearby log. fish of varying breeds half eaten and left to rot emit a stench so putrid that even little pasty pale maggots are detoured from even going near the carcass. an old wooden wharf sticks out of the shoreline like an unnatural invader to the perfectly pristine portrait. long wooden planks are missing and the foundation is slowly eroding and washing out to sea but frolicking children can still be seen diving off its edge into the crisp cool waters during the warm newfoundland summer. the crunch of almost ancient seashells creates a ringing in my ear as i listen to the dull sloshing sound of the receding tide. eternally monotonous are newfoundland beaches, never changing save for a scattered new piece of freshly washed in driftwood. off the shore lies a simple eight foot white dory moored to the wharf by a ragged thick yellow rope, the only thing keeping it from being swept out into the deep blue abyss that is the atlantic ocean. such a place creates a longing that goes deeper than most people can fathom, an almost magnetic pull to the peaceful lifestyle like that of no other, but for now i look upon this scene from the crevices of memory alone and hope that one day i’ll get to gaze at a newfoundland beach once more. "   Submitted By: NULL