la belle mer

Yesterday night, I went to a seafood restaurant by the seaside for dinner. There were a few hand-made swings fashioned from rope and planks hanging from the thick tree branches.

Looking out into the blackness of the horizon, the line which separated sky from sea blurred into a serene uncertainty. The wind whispered ever so softly.

I hoisted myself onto the swing closest to the sea, feeling the rough rope squirming under the light touch of my fingers. I listened to the sea shushing the shore to sleep with its gentle waves crashing lovingly against the white sand.

The shore was in a cloak of shadow, but the waves and the wind kept me company. I don't know how long it's been since I last kept so quiet that I could hear the the timid swish of the sea, unfurling itself against the shore. I can't even remember when's the last time I visited the beach.

I used to know the sand and the sea as a plaything. As a young child, the beach was a playmate to me. But tonight, it stole the show. The spotlight was upon this lone performer on its vast stage, swaying to its own sad song, playing its melody to soothe its own churning soul.

When I left, it was still singing. I left it as I found it, melancholy and alone. I breathed one last ocean breath and then, as soft as the wind stroking my hair, I made my way back to the restaurant.