The Next Day

I wake up to the glowing sunrise. The beginning is still there - a humming pink, circling the edge of the sky.

By the time I’ve gathered my clothes, made myself my morning tea, and stepped out into the cool day, the hum has lifted, and the whispers of the day are starting.

The air warms up faster than I expect and by the time I’ve reached the shore, my jumper is around my waist. My skin, my belly, they want water that I cannot give, because all surrounding is salt.

The raging beast from the day before has settled, slumbering and looking all meek. Inviting. Blistering cold, but you couldn’t tell it by the way it gently laps the sand.

Not a wave to be seen. I reach out with my hand, still disbeliving its chill. Where did all the anger from the day before go? Did it go elsewhere? Is it buried deep?

As I walk back up the dunes, the tongue of breeze returns, coy and playful. Delicious and delighting.