Progress

A man in a swimsuit and Hawaiian shirt walks barefoot on the
beach, his feet warmed by the sand and crushed shells. But then

the clouds slowly roll in, leaving only the weakest trickle of
sunshine. As he looks landward, he can see they are tearing

down an old gulfside bar. Michelangelo could envision a
completed sculpture, by merely looking at a raw block of stone.

Similarly, the man on the beach can see a finished condominium
built on the soon to be vacant lot in the name of progress.

He stops at another beachfront bar and sits under an umbrella
drinking a frosty mug of draft beer with his oysters. He

watches the day-to-day happenings on the small patio,
a feral cat weaseling by carrying a dead sparrow in its mouth,

shadows slipping along the pink stucco walls, and the scrambling
of small birds as they seek shelter from the coming storm in the

sea grass and beach elder bushes. The bar owner carries plastic
trash bags to the dumpster, an employee takes down the unused

umbrellas, stacks the light, plastic chairs and ties them down with
a bungee cord. A green lizard scuttles across the flagstone looking

for insects and a seagull waits for his turn at the dumpster. You
can’t see these things from the window of a condo or hotel. In a

few years this bar, like the one down the beach, will be gone.
Its memory as fleeting as the parting note of a bird flying away.