Seafoam Summer

It's one of those glorious summer days.
The ones where the hills—spun with gold—sit stark against the vivid blue sky like cutouts.
There are some clouds lightly feathering the hills, but none over the sea;
Nothing lowers over the horizon except for cargo ships, lurking far too large and far too close.
The sun is hot, but the sea is cold.
The surf relaxes my soul, with waves crashing around my shoulders and splashing about my hips.
There is peace in the distant tidal roar, and in the constant, indecisive push towards the shore and pull towards the depths.
There is no time out there:
No was, no later, only the eternity of seafoam.