Tendons creak and crack. Ligaments slide across muscle, kinking into cramps. The unexpected pain so sharp you yell, wanting to grab the wretched calf while fearing movement will aggravate it further. You bite off your cry and keep your teeth grit, arching your back until your crown is pressed into the couch. Ten, fifteen seconds later the muscle unwinds just the slightest amount and you breathe again. It'll be days before this pain retreats fully, but right now you're concerned about walking again. Time passes. Bending your toes back becomes a three-act play, maneuvering tiny muscles to extend the injured calf a millimeter at a time.
I would like to see the tide come in and go out again. I haven't been to the beach for a vacation in years. I want to plant myself in a low chair with an easy book and soak up a morning and afternoon on the sand. The ocean's slow march up and down the beach would be the only way to mark time. The endless soft sounds of the breakers banishing thought. Staring out at the sea, a blank landscape holding my attention for far longer than a television or movie, letting my mind float atop the ocean's depths... Getting so hot that you don't feel hot anymore. Feeling the physical pressure of the sun on you, washing out stress... The two glasses of ice water and an afternoon nap in preparation for a night of silly drinking with friends. Romping on the beach at night, stumbling through sand and surf. Crashing into the ocean chest deep and noticing the bioluminescent plankton that swirl around you, electrifying your every motion with an orchestra of living, glowing creatures. They flash and light up the dark water as I swirl my arms and legs, twisting and turning through the sea trying to excite all the life I can reach! At the beach, your own life is ironed out, pressed flat and clean by the depth of the ocean.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment