Hold on to the Wind

Tapping. Feet, fingers, hands: drumming. Can’t keep still. Imagining someone throwing you a guitar like in the movies and jumping on the table. No music in the Caf. But there’s music in your head. Let it out. Blank pages. Absolutely stunningly white, and blank. A blinking line. Rhythmically blinking. To the beat of your music. Fight it. Fill the pages – write.

Attempt.

Anything.

Pause. Let your mind wander. Follow it. Where are you?

Sea breeze. It fills your lungs, water droplets cooling your face, your skin, and your clothes. Damp stone beneath your feet, toes clinging to the smoothed surface. The water recedes. You watch it, anticipation building in your chest in waves of inextinguishable excitement. Shells of muted colours spin and dance before landing on the newly revealed auburn sand. You can smell the exposed earth, the sea salt, the grasses behind you, the storm. The earth crackles in electric expectation. And then you see it. The distant growing of white foam, rushing back towards you, increasing speed. You brace yourself, plant your feet. Connect to the earth, hold on to the wind. It’s here. Crashing. Thunderous explosion of sound, water and air. The sea wall rises above you, you face it and throw your head back as water assaults you and life rages through you.