Email this sample to a friend


Published by James Hampton at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 by James Hampton

All rights reserved.

Cover image © Piumadaquila/Fotolia


I see you now and it’s as if I’m ten years old again: my age the first time I saw you.

Obviously I’ve changed quite a bit since that night, two decades ago. I’m a grown man now, married, two children, a five-year-old daughter and a one-year-old son. I have a family and a job and responsibilities. But tonight I managed to sneak away. Somehow I knew you would be here. No way could I let the chance pass me by: the chance to once more be in your presence.

So here we are, on a beach at midnight, just as we were when I was ten. And the shore is silver, just as it was then. The moon is bright and full. Its radiance blesses every ripple of seawater, every grain of sand; it envelops the vast white dunes, the pine trees and the live oaks and the cabbage palms, but most of it all I feel it in my own body, entering each cell, being pumped by my heart, breathed in through my lungs. I feel it quickening my bloodstream; pulsing through my nerves; shimmering in my eyes, my fingers, at the tips of my toes.

We are fortunate that this section of beach has not yet been lost to real estate development. There are no lights from homes or hotels to interfere with the glory of that vibrant and generous moon. There are no sounds but the faint whisper of soft timid waves lapping the shore. There is no movement but that of your hooves as you occasionally move about on the firm dark sand.

When I first saw you, you were standing in the surf. The light of the moon was so vivid that it seemed to be raining down on top of you. You were standing in the surf and the saltwater was circling about your ankles. I was actually a little afraid, because I didn’t know how you would react if I got too close.

Previous Page Next Page Page 1 of 5