Late Day Summer Swells Uart 400 Grit 12 x 18 pastel

Gloucester’s backshore has felt my step many times across my years upon its sharpened and smoothed profile. A little ride my father would say as we piled into the Ford station wagon and headed off to eat perhaps some catch of the sea, friend clams usually as rain and mist peck and lap at the car’s windows, or with the back gate open on a warm Summer’s eve, the cry of gulls hoping to steal a morsel or peck of crumb left behind as brothers and I go hunting treasure. When outer bank demons roar, their call a foreboding message toward land, battle has begun as ocean and stone will echo like Thor’s hammer hard upon the anvil as sea slams down upon the shore that stubbornly stands its ground, against these late day Summer swells. They will tug back and forth in endless combat seeking a victory that will never be realized. As Neptune reins in his children, sea will again be tamed, and rocks will show fresh wounds. Spent, they wait to fight anew in hopes that next time, one shall be able to call themselves champion.