The warmth of the morning sun caressing your cheek is enough to stir you from slumber. The chilled breeze on your bare feet enough to cause a gentle shiver to ascend. Goosebumps form and leg hair stands, the scent of yesterday’s fire leaving just a wisp of smoke to be carried into the air.
With the raising sun illuminating the mind, you open your eyes and awake your senses. The warmth, the wind, the direction and the strength, they have already entered into your subconscious. The last sense to understand being your bleary eyes, struggling to focus in the haze of the early morning mind-fog.
As gaze becomes focus, as thunder becomes rhythm, the path ahead is already chosen, the destination long ago decided. With a nod to those around you beginning their own ascent to alert, you stand and stretch. With a look of directed wonderment, you start to walk.
With your board under your arm, your leash already fastened, your pace quickens. As your gait adjusts to the ebb-and-flo of the advancing ocean, you feel the sand beneath your feet moisten and firm. As damp becomes wet, as parched becomes saturated, your eyes widen and arms tense.
You draw your board towards your chest and without full awareness, you somehow manage to time your leap. As energy flows under your airborne body, you tighten your grip and align your legs. The impending crash causes an arching of your back, you lift your head and prepare for impact.
As freezing water obliterates the night before, like the sun blinding the horizon, everything is new once again. What was once a moment is now a memory, what was planned in detail is now the forgotten and the withered. What ahead is all that concerns, what will be is the trajectory of the time you are in.
It is done without anticipation, without knowledge and without precaution. And yet, it is always done with an idea, an understanding and with experience and respect. It is automatic and kneejerk, yet it is also forwarded through the mind with detail and analysis.
It is done without thinking, but never without thought.
Photograph © Chris Duczynski.
Tag: Surfing Words