cree-ativ

this was the year of traditions begun.  the world still dark, the morning still early, i climbed into my uncle's car.  we drove out to the ocean, where the rippling sea fuses with the sky.  white-headed eagles were perched still in trees.  they cocked back their heads, opened their hooked mouths and screamed. across an empty parking lot where once a cat had followed us.  over driftwood pale with frost and sand hardened by the cold, we walked.  our breath came out of us in thin plumes.  it rose above us and hung there like smoke signals to the gods. there were gulls on the water, gulls sifting through sand, gulls with their grey backs and fa