Kamari Beach at Night
"One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things."
- Henry Miller
"No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow."
- Lin Yutang
The waves roar and crash into the beach,
foamy teeth biting into the sand.
I sip my wine, black
in the faint streetlamp light.
Strong and dry, it slides down my
throat, warming me to my fingertips.
I'm going to jump into it, I say to myself.
Shed my hoodie, leave on shorts
and a top. Race to the waves, dancing
across rocks sharp on the soft arches
of my feet. Coy, the water recedes
as I approach, only to rush back, breaking
against my calves, flooding the beach
once more. The waves drag sand back
out to sea, pebbles skittering across
my toes with a sound like rain on
dry earth. I wade into the ocean's
inky depths, boat lights flickering
across wave tops, trusting my feet
to guide me through the unknown.
I'm up to my thighs now, salt in the air,
heavy on my tongue. A wave, white
foam already spilling from its crest,
barrels towards shore, towards
me. Feet apart, I brace myself
as the water slams into my chest,
bubbles swirling around my legs.
It leaves as quickly as it came,
icy tides taking my breath with it.