We often arrived before the billowing fog had rolled back. Content to pass cooler morning hours, our bodies formed a human pretzel, salted by the ocean’s spray. Warmth radiated from every cell.
When the cloudless sky opened up, we picnicked, painted stories in the sand, scoured and scavenged hidden gems along the shore. A retreating tide created even more adventures to be shared. Hands stretched out to help each other scale the slippery, water-logged boulders. Teeming with sea critters, there was so much vibrant life to explore. Excitement, sheer giddiness captured us every time, each of us racing to show the other our next discovery.
Somehow, in the mere moments we weren’t absorbed by one another, I took pleasure breathing in the kaleidoscope before me. Sure, it was absurd to try to name and number every shade Our Spot’s surroundings offered. Though while being cradled by the sand, toasted by the sun, it was a trite little game I liked to play in my mind. Easily distracted from my counting, I was always mesmerized by the varied palette of greens, blues, and grays that paraded across the sky, descending to prance upon the ocean’s skin, playfully reflected back in my mate’s eyes…where I always got lost. I never did grasp a final count.
For three short years, we returned to our cove as often as the chaos of everyday life would allow, always wishing we could stay longer…one more breath of salty air to drag deeply in, one more chance to wriggle our toes in the toasty warm sand, one more treasure hunt, one more wave of water washing up the wet sand, swirling madly around our ankles.
We must have missed the riptide warning that Sunday. How we could have missed a blazing red sign, I’m still not quite sure.
We never did want to leave our cove, Our Spot. And now, we never will.This post is Fiction, a part of the Red Writing Hood, and though I've read fantastic fiction from The Red Dress Club's members before, this is my first time writing along! This week's prompt:
Water gives life. It also takes it away.