A Day At The Beach.

The setting sun clung to the edges of the jet-black sea at the horizon. The waves, that I could only describe as similar to a thousand silver snakes sliding across each other and hissing, now lay still, silent. The soft, warm sand parted to allow for my hands to rest beneath its gentle grains; it felt like what one may imagine TV static to feel like: hot and alive, ecstatic and simple still. My body set down into that soft, static powder; pressing into the Earth. Letting my soul become absorbed into the humid current of the sirocco like winds was a thing that lay solely in my dreams for the most part. Overhead sea birds cawed and whistled as they glided across the melting sky, like arrowheads made of sharp and swift obsidian. 

The air smelt like tar and damp summer rains, like cars racing to get away from the storms ahead. Yet the dark clouds above, and the hot breeze put me at peace. If any tired head were to rest upon those great tufts of cotton, of cold heat, surely its eyes would never open again. The sky, an indigo cloak, woven with fine silver, embroidered with cotton spirals; done up in gold and green, apple flesh white and cornflower blue. A work of art. Those thick, velvet clothes draped themselves over the mountain and fell down its side, following after the retiring sun. 

A moon, as bright and glowing as some of the greatest stars arose from its dark and earthy stage, while laughter and music applauded with the night air. It spilt over the shore, dripping into coves and pools. The sea poured its whispering song into the ears of an audience that slunk back into the cool shadows of the night and read the waves, like poetry by moonlight. 

Shrieks and giggles clashed in time with the crashing waves. The sands became a bed for the drunken and drowsy, sleepless thoughts of children tired of the world, looking for an escape wherever they may find it. For the soles reddened and grazed at the heart and mind but left with no physical proof to speak of, for the souls, who like the sun and moon, arose and fell each day with ambition and sadness. For the souls who were driven to drown their griefs in the sick and sour salt of the restless bay. But still the soft sands settled them into sleep, and shunned the showers of shame and unmade promises. It hummed. It hummed like a lullaby. 

 Rock pools glowed with the silver sheets of light that lined their surfaces. Silver waters like glacial salt streams. Deep enough to submerge both an aching body, and a mind so overactive and abraded that only the pinch and suffocation of Atlantic waters and an urchin’s sting may numb. Hot tears and frigid waters salt a face, raw and stinging. It’s the heavy weight and hush of the waves that asphyxiate the agonising screams. The crooning of gulls in the wind settled, it was all wind and the wash of the wild. Another day at the beach, turned to night, and day again. 

– By Boji