ITS TIME TO GET UP
An early morning walk on the Coney Island Boardwalk can be quite exhilirating. The early sunlight glistens on the ocean waves breaking quietly against the shore, the beach a wide and clean carpet of even earth tones. The parachute jump forever in your line of sight the tower rising in the west the colors bright and reflective. You chase your long shadow in vain. The boardwalk is flat with no challenges to keeping a steady pace. A ribbon of weathered wooden planks disappears out of your line of sight. The sun has already warmed the wood underneath your feet and the heated air rises from below. Walkers and runners keep easily to their own path and occasionally an overzealous biker ignores the boardwalk credo of personal space. I prefer walking west where the blues are deeper and the reds bleed until a relentless west wind sweeps the tiny sands of glass against my face.
I finally realized
that my daily pleasure was due to the strength and integrity of the aged boards
underneath my feet that were held in place by a community of little objects called SCREWS. So while most shutterbugs were busy taking photos of
the wonderful seascape and colorful Coney Island attractions I dropped down to
ground level to discover a buried world that
has been mostly ignored and certainly taken for granted.
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