The Peaceful Pacific

A road trip through the Pacific West, from Seattle along Sequim, Ocean Shore, Seaside, all the way to San Francisco. The Pacific roared beside. Frequent signs warned of Tsunami hazard. While a warning at a trinket shop showed an evacuation route, an ice cream ad promised a tsunami of delight. People thronged the beaches en route, least worried, all in mirth; a gigantic tide was last on their list. At Ocean Shore, a man and woman stood in tight embrace, the lady sobbing without respite, a personal tsunami on the heave, wreaking havoc on their aching psyche. The Pacific just looked on beside. Humanity seemed a cluster of ants on the rim of a tea cup left under a tap savouring their last greedy grabs, weeping over what is not. The tap looks down upon. Yet, away, unknown to them two superpowers were locked in an eye-ball confrontation over things of least real concern portending a nuclear conflagration. Lo, the Pacific stands for peace as her name really means, while men portend real nemesis, their own apocalypse.