...to the sound of the sea. To the sea in all its moods, from the flat-calm-sunny-warmth of a glassy day, gliding through calm water with life meandering on below... to the alive and rhythmic, sound-charged energy of a surf filled day.
I allow my mind to wander... to the connection between friends, a day in a tide race and the deepest bond… in that glance that says ‘I know what you’re thinking and I feel it too’... The smile of elation at success, at flow, at the joy of movement.
I miss that glance. I miss the noise, the feel of the water on my skin, the smell of the air. I miss the sea, and I miss the friends with whom I share it. I miss it so much that I feel the pain in both body and mind.
I don’t take from the sea in the way a fisherman might... I take energy, strength and understanding. Feelings of connection, a deep awareness of how the sea moves and breathes, of how its energy appears on the surface, and of how it allows me to dance with it, responding to its rise and fall, matching the energy of my response to the energy of its movement.
I miss the thin sliver of fibreglass that, between the sea and my body, tells me what the water wants me to do. It tells me how to move, how to perform, the tiny adjustments to make with body and blade, conscious brain seemingly absent from the process.
The sea will still be there when this is over. In weeks, months, or more… It’s not essential, I’m told. Until then, I must survive on imagery and memory alone, on the remembering of those connections, physical and metaphorical. For the good of all, for the lives, and livelihoods, of us all.
And so I wait.