If he looked very carefully, he could make out the tops of mountains nestled in the pillows of clouds. From time to time, birds would cross his field of view, rising and falling in the sea breeze. He breathed the heavy scent of salt and seaweed, and as his legs were becoming numb with cold, he wondered if he should be standing thigh-deep in the shallows.
Every once in a while, a larger wave crested and splashed over his hips, each one sending a shock of cold up his spine. No, he probably shouldn’t stand here anymore. He had stopped at the water’s edge to look at the view. Over the course of an hour or two (or was it three?) the water surrounded him and climbed steadily up the beach until now the largest of the waves threatened to knock him over.
But he’d stood his ground. Instead, he watched the clouds over the mountains on the horizon. Like the waves, the clouds flowed around and over the peaks and into valleys, swirling and cresting. It was a river in the air, moving too slowly to see with the naked eye. He kept his gaze fixed on a point in the clouds, though, and observed how that point would slide inexorably from left to right across the range.
Something nibbled at his toes. It was time to leave. He turned his back to the river of clouds and waded back to the now-distant shore, where cyclists and rollerbladers whizzed left and right endlessly. When he stood on solid ground, he paused to consider where he might go next. Just then, a woman, sitting awkwardly on a lawn nearby, lifted a book to hide her face. “I, ROBOT” the title proclaimed in gold embossed letters on a faux-leather binding.
“Asimov,” he muttered. “Always with the Asimov.” He turned left, then right, then left again, and made for the bridge. Maybe he’d sit on the bridge for a while.