The shapes in the dark move about like ghosts, in black, skin-tight wetsuits …begging for the dawn, to ride the waves on the sea. A flock of birds sing, scraping the aquatic; all heads turn. The earth spins on. It controls the invisible eddies, the tides of the sea that could turn tons of power per square inch into a momentary masterpiece.
It starts with the slightest tint of blue rising in the east, and emerald when one turns west. The ones in the black wetsuits hold their breath. Bodies jerked, as explosions from the sea were heard.
The waves bring the ghosts, the immortals ---only the brave can breathe in this emerald world. There’s no tightening of the chest, but if there is, the masterpiece grows teeth. Thoughts then turn shapes of this emerald world into prehistoric creatures, just below the surface. Their body then belongs to someone else.
Suddenly …that incredible power per square inch collapses against a body, now nearing rocks; panicked breathing comes next, then it all stops. The sea answers all questions with a mystery. To say you understand only proves you’re no surfer, just a dream to contain such courage.
“Just remember to breathe, don’t do anything ridiculous like talk.” The blue tint in the east still is rising, and now has mixed with the greatest painters of the past. The kid couldn’t wait a moment more. The sunrise is here, at least enough for him.
The kid, for a moment, stood on the precipice. ‘How many waves have exploded and been forgotten here’, he thought. His naked foot rested on the first, slippery, mossy rock. Just to get to the sea is a journey, a novel, as you move from rock to slippery rock. He moves even closer.
The rocks are cold and mossy with life. He’s showered as a cliff stands tall against a wave. He tries to control his shivering. He’s in Upper California, at Steamer’s Lane in the city of Santa Cruz.
That particular wave had travelled all the way from Alaska to prove its strength. Only in winter, with lips cracking, does Steamer Lane flex all of its muscles, remember, only the brave ---SURF!
The kid is close enough as he times the surf and jumps into the sea. To control your cold you must start paddling hard. The kid atop his surfboard turns into a river and pushes through the currents with ease. The kid is no kid when it comes to the sea. He’s been making his own river through all different seas since three. He breathes with ease here; he knows whatever it was, is, now, no longer exists out here. Only on land can it possess power to displease.
The kid keeps on paddling to the explosions. He seeks it out, as some people tremble when they think about it. But the kid feels more comfortable out here. The others in black wetsuits feel his courage ---as they paddle towards him. He’s in position. The first wave is his.
The winds now also are his. They blow against the wave and open her up. Up and over the wave ends with a gentle shower. Only out here does he belong …he breathes deeply. The horizon rises again to meet him. He turns, paddles, and he’s up to his feet…instantly. Its a million miles an hour, now, but the kid just flows, he bends between the power and the ‘still’ of the sea. He pulls his body into the curl, the tube, THE GREEN ROOM.
Inside he hears the roar, feels the power, scraps his hand against the wave to slow him down, the earth stops, everything stops except his, “Scream.”
He’s not alone in the green room. The greatest of the greats with color have gone mad, no need for ears here. The sunrise has splashed all its energy inside the green room. The colors are blending mixing …it’s a Sunrise Masterpiece!
The End
