Life's Lessons

Crashing Surf

A little boy,
maybe three or four years old.
Wet cool sand
oozing between toes
moving tentatively
towards the frothy force
that comes and goes,
comes and goes
covering the little feet
with slurry cool
of water, sand and foam.

The thrill of the sound
of distant thunder,
a frightening yet magnetic force
draws me out
splashing now
as the distant waves deflate
upon the sloping slick of filmy sand
finally wetting my face.

My trunks all wet now
as farther out I go
standing on tippy toes,
standing on tippy toes
jumping the little crests
so the icy fingers will not tickle
my belly button and my breast.

Jumping, dodging, turning,
splashing with my hands,
daring to fall down,
daring to fall down
with eyes closed and pinched nose
to let the surging water
flow over my plunging head.

Exhilarating, bracing, lifting.
Nothing else exists.
Feeling powerful,
facing the endless ocean
to taunt its outstretched hands
which try to grab me,
to shake me,
and to pull me farther out.

Suddenly my father is beside me
his large tanned body shining wet
his glistening brow,
his laughing smile and eyes.
I look up,
and sun
and water
and his face
give me joy.
He is feeling my joy,
and I his pride
penetrating to my bones.

And the waves in rhythm pounding,
and the surging sand,
and my beating heart,
and my father's broad shoulders
where he lifts me to experience
an even greater thrill
and danger.

© 2000 Richard Sidy

Read also "Rest"