alaMar
Two out of my three names pertain to the sea and it is so fitting. Even when I lived in the middle of the desert I made a monthly pilgrimage to my ocean. I don't know why I have kept myself away for so long.
Tonight I remembered what my toes in the sand felt like. On an overly foggy beach I let kelp wrap around my ankles and wash over my rolled-up jeans, heels in hand. Clouds blocked out any sign of the moon, holding in twilight, but the waves make you acutely aware of its presence.
I revel in the sting of sand on my bare legs and the cold that fades as your body accepts it. It is here you will see me dance with a grace you never imagined my awkward body possible of, and tonight, I was the barefoot ballerina.
Much to the horror of my host, watching helplessly from higher ground, I ran toward the waves. I don't think I have felt so exhilarated in a long, long time. I swam out, ducking under some waves and letting others take me backward, smacking my face with cold remembrance. My too tall shoes escaped my hands and I never turned to look for them.
After about twenty minutes I returned, maroon lips shivering and make-up gone, to the shore. My body and clothes felt heavy without the water, and I considered what female elephant seals must feel like when they return from long hunts. There on the beach stood the man who had invited me on this sea-side walk, his shoes still on and amazingly clean. He must have meticulously walked so that the sides were never tarnished by the rude sand. I was covered in it. He held out my washed up shoes with the pleading look of someone trying to get the person to, "just hand me the gun".
The car ride home was silent except for my ever present smile and his grimace as he peeled sea-weed from where it has been plastered to my chest. Despite any disapproval of onlookers or men who will never truly know me, I feel so wonderful.
Dance with me?
Tonight I remembered what my toes in the sand felt like. On an overly foggy beach I let kelp wrap around my ankles and wash over my rolled-up jeans, heels in hand. Clouds blocked out any sign of the moon, holding in twilight, but the waves make you acutely aware of its presence.
I revel in the sting of sand on my bare legs and the cold that fades as your body accepts it. It is here you will see me dance with a grace you never imagined my awkward body possible of, and tonight, I was the barefoot ballerina.
Much to the horror of my host, watching helplessly from higher ground, I ran toward the waves. I don't think I have felt so exhilarated in a long, long time. I swam out, ducking under some waves and letting others take me backward, smacking my face with cold remembrance. My too tall shoes escaped my hands and I never turned to look for them.
After about twenty minutes I returned, maroon lips shivering and make-up gone, to the shore. My body and clothes felt heavy without the water, and I considered what female elephant seals must feel like when they return from long hunts. There on the beach stood the man who had invited me on this sea-side walk, his shoes still on and amazingly clean. He must have meticulously walked so that the sides were never tarnished by the rude sand. I was covered in it. He held out my washed up shoes with the pleading look of someone trying to get the person to, "just hand me the gun".
The car ride home was silent except for my ever present smile and his grimace as he peeled sea-weed from where it has been plastered to my chest. Despite any disapproval of onlookers or men who will never truly know me, I feel so wonderful.
Dance with me?