A Journey (a short story for summer).

There are whitecaps — the sea breeze is up.
I set off from home, pushing my trolley down the green drive and along the gravel road.
On the grassy foreshore I rig my sail beside bleached, sea-washed tree trunks.
Carry the board out through the inner waves until it is deep enough to clear the long fin.
Watching the surf, sail at the ready, waiting for a gap . . .
Now — reach the sail forward, hop onto the board and off.
Careful here, a wipe-out in this violent break zone can smash gear.
Out past the surf and free — hook in the harness with relief.
Movement is still sluggish, plowing through the water;
Ease the sail, run off downwind a little — the board is released and accelerates off.
Feet in the straps, front foot then back foot.
Now everything is balanced and I can lean back in the harness, the power of the sail over the fin.
The swell is coming from the east, the wind from the north east.
I angle across the waves and duck around the impatient whitecaps.
Over a large crest and into the air.
The board slams on the chop, the knees flex.
Always watching the water, working sail and feet.
Lean further back, close up the sail foot and drive through the toes;
Now the board is fast — less slamming, “skipping over the ocean like a stone”.
A flying fish shoots up and whirrs alongside, flashing wings, the two of us.
Further out the sea turns from green to blue.
Beyond the Cape the long edge of the horizon beckons, deep dark ocean.
The coast fades behind — I am totally alone, separated and released from land time.
The ocean breathes and heaves as it has always done, unchanged since before life began.
Lost in the rhythm, mesmerised by the movement, I could go on for ever . . .
Nothing between me and Chile, but it is still an effort to turn back.
Ease the sail and run off, back foot out and forward — front foot lifts and carves the turn.
It’s all on the balls of the feet now, unbalanced.
Wind over my right shoulder, flip the sail and sheet in.
Heading back to land, sailing down the line of the sun, the sea is transformed.
It is all surface now, heaving and glistening, shattered by the dazzling light.
Back in the present, I ride across and down the swells, watching as a large mass looms up;
Weight on the toes, the board skids off down the slithery, sucking face;
Back on the heels and turn up for the next.
This is the best part, no slamming, just weaving with the waves.
Close to the beach the swells rise up and tremble with intent along the crest.
I shoot over the top of one just before it breaks.
Unhook the harness and ease back through the surf.
Hop off before the fin rams the sand.
Carry the rig up the beach with aching arms.
Rinse everything in the creek and push the trolley back home,
. . . Back to exactly where I started.
But I am different, my heart surges and spirit swells, refreshed and replenished.