His freckled nose tells a story of its own. This boy was no stranger of the sun. His Vitamin D levels were always sufficient, no need for milk. Nevertheless, he could down a good Oreo milkshake in a minute. Just ask his about the many hours he spent on the bright yellow benches outside of Mr. Frosties with ice cream in hand.
When he’s around, the indigo rolling waves never go unridden. A crimson board slicing through the shoreline was a common sight for those who knew him well. Sand filled the floor boards of his sisters old Explorer. With wind blowing through our salted hair, he’d pop in one of the old mixed Cd’s.
I’d close my eyes trusting his hands on the wheel, and on my heart.
He wasn’t only a child of the sea, but a man of the mountains too. There was a blazing ambition within him to find the highest point in his surroundings. My first realization of this phenomenon was our first date, which happened to be on the roof of the house he grew up in.
While he was intrigued by the adventure, he always stepped back to take in the view and that’s what I admired most about him.
On his down time, you could catch him sitting at the kitchen counter with a pen in hand. He’d let it dance among pages until works of art were created. Doodles for his wandering mind were uncanny to me. A common occurrence upon his pages were crests of waves along the ocean. He’d depicted them with small sharp black lines, which created immense detail. I’ve watched this process time after time, and I could point out one of his works in an instant.
To me this man not only created art, but was a masterpiece himself.