The sea
There are many things that adults think they know about the sea. They are all wrong.
The sea is big and deep and scary. The sea clings on to people, and because we have fingers and not fins any more we can't escape. That's why I don't like the sea. I think I might if I was a plesiosaur.
The sea goes on forever, until it becomes the sky. Sometimes, when the sky is really close to the sea, everything is bright and warm and you have to screw up your eyes until the sun goes blood red. Sometimes, if you squint hard enough at the sea, you can see faraway islands with secret coves and pirate galleys. They are too far away for anyone to ever go to.
If you close your eyes and just lie there, the waves sound like shh-shhhh, but just when you feel calm they start to jump and crackle, and then if you try to listen to each wave move one by one you feel scared and small and queasy, because you know that the sea is big and lonely and always searching.
When I feel like that, I bury my feet and my legs deep in the sand like a big crab. The sea slurps and sucks at the sand, but the sand is always moving, always dancing out of reach, carrying with it the sun that shines from white, to yellow, then orange, before it falls into the sea.
When the light is gone, the sea will get ahold of me for good.
The sea is big and deep and scary. The sea clings on to people, and because we have fingers and not fins any more we can't escape. That's why I don't like the sea. I think I might if I was a plesiosaur.
The sea goes on forever, until it becomes the sky. Sometimes, when the sky is really close to the sea, everything is bright and warm and you have to screw up your eyes until the sun goes blood red. Sometimes, if you squint hard enough at the sea, you can see faraway islands with secret coves and pirate galleys. They are too far away for anyone to ever go to.
If you close your eyes and just lie there, the waves sound like shh-shhhh, but just when you feel calm they start to jump and crackle, and then if you try to listen to each wave move one by one you feel scared and small and queasy, because you know that the sea is big and lonely and always searching.
When I feel like that, I bury my feet and my legs deep in the sand like a big crab. The sea slurps and sucks at the sand, but the sand is always moving, always dancing out of reach, carrying with it the sun that shines from white, to yellow, then orange, before it falls into the sea.
When the light is gone, the sea will get ahold of me for good.