I unwrapped the red and white checkered paper and took a bite; the puffin surfaced. I swallowed; the jellyfish floated. Cobbled rocks rolled down the beach with outgoing waves and they made a song without melody - percussion only. The soft kind of clatter that smoothes edges over years instead of days.

So I was kissing spruce on the rugged, ancient path. Trying to find my footing with a mouth full of conifer. Deciding this was the taste of green, were it to have a flavor. With an extra hint of brine given the inescapable ocean always industrious down below. Taking in the landscape with my eyes and my mouth.