Excerpt from November Skies

*So, this is an excerpt from the first chapter of one of my books, November Skies. Sorry if it's boring. I'll be posting excerpts from my books every once and a while, just to see what everyone thinks and to get some constructive criticism on how to make them better. Let me know what you think :)*

Wandering through a shimmering field of goldenrod, skimming the dusty tops with the palm of my hand, I looked up at the sky and smiled in appreciation for the beauty above me. It was November; the blue of the sky was turning the color of lilacs, and the clouds were pink and orange in the wake of the sunset. I lay down amidst the tall and untamed goldenrod and knew I was completely hidden from view. The rumble of the ocean drifted over the sandy dunes and I was reminded of the ocean's fickle character as I gazed up at the beautiful colors of the sky.
At times, the ocean is untamed, wild, rough, and roaring, becoming unforgiving and cruel. Then with a change of wind, it morphs into the very epitome of calmness and beauty, its small, delicate, frothing waves gently swirling and splashing like a sweet child at play. I can relate to the ocean's fickleness, though, for I too can be sweet and gentle, and than suddenly become angry and agitated.
The ocean's roughness can be very frightening, but it is awe-inspiring as well. When watching the large, rolling waves come crashing down again and again, foam spraying everywhere, and the taste of salt in the air, I catch my breath waiting for the next wave to come tumbling down. I find myself caught up in the ocean's wild grandeur, the roar and crash of the waves ringing repeatedly in my ears. A chill runs up my back and I shudder, knowing that the ocean's untamed power could destroy me in mere seconds. And yet I am still struck with wonder at its awesome majesty.
I closed my eyes and absorbed the stunning beauty of nature. I had lived all my life among the sand and water, plants and flowers, and this amazing scenery. And in twenty-six years, it had not changed.
"Marvelous," I whispered.
"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but what's so mahvelous?" asked a strange voice. Disturbed from my reveries, I sat up to see a man's tanned and worn facing peering at me.
"Oh, I was merely commenting on the consistency of beautiful scenery here," I explained. Immediately, I wished I had used a more simply termed explanation as the man's brow furrowed in confusion.
But he seemed to understand what I meant, for he said, "Aye, it is mighty beautiful, though, ain't it?"
I smiled and stood up. "Yes, it is that." The two of us stood there in silence, gazing at the goldenrod spread out around us, the wind blowing across it and giving it the appearance of one, large, endless, golden wave. I pulled my sweater together tightly to shut out the growing cold, and looked at the man who stood beside me. He was a stocky, broad man with a gray, balding head. He had bright blue eyes that twinkled with humor and a near toothless smile. In his rough, weather-beaten hands he held his torn cap.
"There are some won'erful things in this world, miss," he commented.
"Yes, there are," I agreed. Silence fell again. "May I inquire as to your name, sir?" I asked after another pause.
"Why, bless your lil soul, 'course you can! My name's Jacob Jacobs," he replied cheerily. My eyebrows rose slightly, but I decided that I'd heard stranger names. And this name seemed somewhat familiar...
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jacobs. I am Catherine Whiting," I said, thinking that compared to his name, mine seemed long and sophisticated. I extended my hand, which he shook vigorously.
"Whoo-wee, that's some name you got there, Mrs. Whiting," chuckled Jacob Jacobs. I smiled. That thought had never occurred to me before. "I once knew a fam'ly by the name of Whiting. Some time back since I last heard from 'em," he continued, "only one child they had, Will, I b’lieve his name was." I started to laugh.
"Why, Mr. Jacobs! It is Will who I am married to!" I exclaimed.
"Now ain't that jist dandy? It musta been fate we met, 'cause I was planning on visitin' your in-laws soon," he told me.
"Than you must come back to the house with me. I'll invite Mr. and Mrs. Whiting over, and you can all stay to dinner!"
"Very well, then," consented Mr. Jacobs. As we trekked back to my house, I began to recall Mr. Jacobs from my early childhood, remembering him as work hand who had only worked for Mr. and Mrs. Whiting, my in-laws, for a short time, but he had been extremely trusted by them. While Mr. Jacobs chattered on, my childhood memories began to rise to the surface.