The light above the water was more intense than it was on land. The sky was filled with storm clouds and bright streams of white spilled over to fill the spaces in between. It seemed as if the air, independent of the light filtering through, was orange.
After a few minutes out I became aware of a pattern of sound, only noticeable because of a cluster of people sharing the same waves. There was a quiet lull of silent anticipation; a slight wind hinting at a dormant energy about to build. Sound and motion increased, like a group of kids circled around a parachute, each clutching a section and moving in sync. The waves swelled as if invisible hands were shaking the top sheet of water, and the voices began. Increasing in relation to the size of the waves, laughter and joyful screams climaxed as honey toned bodies lifted from boards shortly before the waves crashed and echoed. And suddenly all was silent, the blue sheet pulled taut. Motionless, but anxious once again. After confirming the pattern and its consistency, I joined the rhythm and time passed without notice.
I straddled my board and let the water softly raise and lower me, enjoying the calming roll while I watched the others. Collections of tiny raindrops built up the momentum and courage to run down my shoulders and off my nose, meeting at last with the ocean. Above the water white pelicans swooped and circled, looking for the glimmer of silver fish farther into the horizon than the deepest surfer. I paddled back in the direction that I came, stopping now and then to observe. -Allie Jenkinson
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