By RUAA LABANIEH
Expressions Editor
Roughly brushing off the grains of sand, I silently observed the steadily lessening mobs until only my shadow and the expanse of the sea remained.The year’s relentless changes left war in my beating heart and anger in my shaking soul. Hesitantly, I inched towards the ocean as the waves inhaled deeply -breathing in buckets of salty foam – and exhaled, trampling many once appreciated sandcastles.
As the waves lapped at my ankles, I caught a glimpse of a mass of towering boulders. They piled upon each other, then evened out to create a crooked, unbalanced pier. Timidly, I tiptoed into the icy water and wobbled unsteadily through the chilly latitude. Grasping the harsh cutting edges of the rocks, I strained to heave my body weight. The rocks bore the promise of a strenuous challenge, threatening any adventurer willing to take the climb. One by one, I clutched the rugged ladders until I clambered to the top.
The rattling of my teeth was lost amongst the resounding groans of the brisk, evening wind. I caressed my hands up and down my arms so as to shield myself from the peak’s biting temperatures. My blood, dripping red across the top of my hand, stained my pale, skinned knuckles. The ocean’s enticing fragrance wafted along the shore, as the wind whirled around my lone figure mockingly, its invisible hands shoving against my shoulders and threatening to push me into the crashing waves. The moon, wise and incandescent, floated with leisure in the midst of winking stars, admiring its reflection on the torrential waves. The sky was a canvas on which a pen happened to rupture and spill its ink, haphazardly coating the carefully-pinned sailcloth ceiling a royal blue. Tilting my head to the sky, I opened my mouth to narrate the beauty I beheld but was silenced by the taste of salt and the tang of fish. The silence hummed a pleasant tune and I lowered my body to the rigid stones.
Enveloping my body with my arms, I studied fixedly the majestically dazzling scene spread out before me like a feast for kings. Like the solitary clouds suspended by a delicate agreement between the air and the water, my problems seemed to hang fragilely above my head. Yet, still, I had failed to see the loveliness beneath the misery: the glistening ocean, the moon’s radiance and the existence of life buried underneath the abysmal body of water. I could choose to glare and leer up at the foggy nebula, forever swamped by the deep, dark gloom. Or, I could decide to embrace the artistry of my burden; the intricate tapestry of my bittersweet world. Gliding to my feet, I faced the surface of the ocean before plunging into luster of the ocean’s magnanimity.
Categories:
Waves: prose
November 14, 2015
300 dpi Hector Casanova illustration of a restless sleeper with hair resembling tropical trees on a hot summer day. The Kansas City Star 2011
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