Coral bleeds a thin vein dividing grey on grey of sea and sky. Waves brown and white tumble in to lick my feet and chase me further up the shore. Melon orb suddenly bumps above pink line, throbs color onto misty morning beachfront. Rolling waves pause in pant and growl, like an inhale, and resume.
The rough surf is all tumble and frolic today, knocking me from my feet, burying my head beneath foam, scratching my skin against sandy bottom, sending my sandy bottom over and over my snarly head. I break my head free, drinking warm salt air into my lungs, water streaming from hair across shoulders, down back. Skin cool and muscles warm, I stride out further to wrestle with more waves.
Leaving my feet to float, I am no longer of earth, at odds with water, but part of the sea, bobbing and dipping, tossed gently with rush and roll. My bikini wanders, sliding askew with little provocation. Discarding it is an appealing non-option. I accidentally flash a pair of amused elders as I emerge.
Back ashore, I still feel tidal pull tugging at my body.
Back home, I still feel tidal pull tugging at my heart.