Sunday Morning: Time

What passed for morning: a cinderblock sky, bricking in the sun. The ocean was lifeless; a few surfers adrift, feeling an optimism that I didn't share. I sat and watched for a while, thinking this: time is the only enemy. It slows a distant swell, it marks the tide, it is darkness when there ought to be dawn and sunsets come too soon. It's all there is and there's never enough of it.