Yesterday, I had one of the best surf sessions I’ve had since I’ve been here. It wasn’t the best quality wave; it was small, and the wind was nipping across the surface of the water, but only a few of us were out. And we surfed until after the sun set, and the purple and gold sheen of light that had spread out across the surface of the water, melted down and away and into night. We paddled back in through the channel, rocks looming spooky either side of us. And ran home, arms aching, in the dark.
Again, this morning; running down the road in the dark, towards the water. A wet rashie. The water biting. In the dark, glassy ocean, floating. Glowing pink at sunrise. A fisherman’s boat, sky-blue and racing, rides in on the calm to check pots, and back out to beat the sets, and over the lip of a wave prow upright, a salutation to the sky, white water crumbling all around us.