Nauset Light

The beach water is warm. In this cave, it cocoons like a bath, froth and salt clings to my skin, but the sky is dark, the sea is not calm. The clouds smother the sky, smooth like icing, no bulges of rain or lightning, just the tension of a bowl of milk; no ripples.1

The ocean bends back like taught tendons, poised muscles ready to spring. When it hits the sand it carries with it ages of debris – road signs, Volkswagens with sides battered by salt, leather shoes shrunken like voodoo charms.2

The waves hit the sand and gush around me. I slide deeper into the hole, the water rushing as if I am sugar in coffee, spinning, losing myself in the silt. Sand and shells, vibrant weeds, pebbles, tangle in my hair, run through my teeth, seep into my pores. The water in my lungs runs in and out with the tide. But I do not struggle, I do not run when the waves take a breath.

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