Sitting in the warm sand, hugging my knees close to my chest, I watch the waves crashing onto the shore. The breeze is much stronger this time of night and it makes the water choppy, almost violent, but it’s beautiful. Tiny fish jump and leap, disappearing once again below the surface and I am envious. Who knows where they came from? Who knows where they live? I cannot see the opposite shore and I know these fish have such an immense amount of vastness to explore. An entirely separate world to call their own.
The sun shimmers off the surface of the water, the waves crash against the jetties, foaming and frothing, never stilling, not even for a moment. There’s nothing calm about these waves. They are wild and free and I long to be consumed by them in a way I cannot explain. There is freedom in those waves, a freedom I am always seeking.
Seagulls dip low, barely skimming the top of the water, coming up with their catches. Their call is beautiful as they soar through the fiery skies. I imagine them flying back to their nests, on the highest branches of the tallest trees, to feed their young before gliding back through the clouds. I spread my arms and feel the wind tickle my bare skin and wonder what it must feel like to fly. I want to fly.
A couple of hermit crabs carried in by the tide nestle into the wet sand and I watch for a moment as wave after wave flows over them. I wonder if they will come out of their shells to retreat back into their watery home and I worry that they will become stuck. Standing, not bothering to wipe the sand off my skin, I walk carefully over to them and pluck them up. Walking barefoot to the water’s edge, I put them down and watch the waves carry them away. I stand for a moment as they are carried further and further out by the almost violent, yet absolutely beautiful water, sinking slowly with each wave that washes over them and I feel a familiar longing and wonder when and if it will ever be satisfied.
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