Cooks Brook Beach

I stand leaning on the fence at
Cooks Brook Beach.

I glance to the corner of the parking lot that served as homeplate on these early mornings before the normal people came.
I remember hitting a line drive foul that Kevin missed.
The ball hit a red headed girl from Worcester in the wrist but didn’t hurt because she was wearing hippie bracelets she had bought in Ptown the previous night.
She told me this as we made out in the dunes later that night. 
Two fourteen year olds kissing in the moonlight.
Kevin told me I owed him a favor
and I don’t know if I ever delivered sufficiently.

But looking out at the water,  I am struck by the sunsets I missed while running around.
That Kevin missed.
That Wayne missed.
Those crazy youthful summers.
All the sunsets I still miss as well as the happy hoodlums that were and still are my friends.

I think that life is neither too long nor too short.

But I miss those days.

I stand here and hear echos.