February 15, 2009
A Surfer
Upon leaving the parking lot he remembered the first time he had made the drive out there. It had been early, almost too early, and the sun had struggled with the night as he stepped out of the mist and onto the slippery rocks. The loud sea had drawn him in, and though he could only barely make out the wash of the white-water as it licked the rocks, he became infatuated with the ocean. The strong winds made it hard for him to stand up straight and he was close to losing his board to the wind a couple of times. There was no way he could make out the sea from the sky on the horizon, but still the only thing he wanted to do, was go out there. He remembered the initial shock of the cold water rushing around him and the humiliating power of the sea that forced him to cry out for pause. It had kept him coming for more. Once beyond the shore break he would turn his back to the colorless beach...