She Waits or What We've Lost

The wind is cold and agitates her skin. The sun darts behind clouds as though it wants to play with her but is too shy to speak up. They had strolled from winter. The worse was behind them now. A day to escape the concrete canopy and enjoy being. Strange seasonal rituals weren’t a stretch of the imagination in the age of plastic consumption. She waits with experience perched on her shoulders and together they listen to the sound of the waves. Something inside has taken hold and they stare at the ocean. Her shoes safe beyond the high-water mark. Safe and dry. Lesson’s learnt the hard way, often serve you well, like a well appointed prison. One sock is jammed at the toes, while the other flops like a dogs tongue. Now she waits. Watches. Listens.

She sees others ignore their mothers and dive head first into the cold water. Words are yelled. They fly from the mouth but have no strength against the might of the wind, and waves. Meaningless against the vastness. Meaningless against a child’s fascination. She knows that feeling. They know her feeling. They know what she is about to do.

A shore break cobra rears for a second then comes crashing down. The water comes at her ferociously but like those words still drifting away in the wind they slow to a crawl and only kiss her toes. Perfect distance. Now. She charges. Laughter like war-cries. The wave retreats. She has no fear and she can’t sense any. She tries to stomp the wave with her feet. Shards of water some like glass, others like shiny clouds speckle her dry clothes. Softening them against the salty wind. Experience whispers something in her ear. She stops. She waits. A foot away and a second wave has begun to draw the first in, take it’s energy and change it’s momentum. It rears up, and lunges forwards. Her feet leave dry holes that are quickly consumed by the new playmate. She runs back towards the shoes. Back towards the words. The beach is the world. She has it all in her laughter.