|sent from: London, UK. destination: Sunbury-on-Thames, Middx, UK|
He stands at the mighty ocean’s edge. The water is cold around his ankles on this winter’s day. He remembers meeting a girl on this shore, holding her hand as the waves pulled them both over, the other hand full of coarse sand. The sun is warm, setting soon. He assesses his circulation; his feet below the waterline are slowly adjusting to the cold Pacific swell. They are his canaries – if they go numb, it’s too cold to swim. Not today, strangely. At this time of year his feet would normally be blue, the undercurrent too strong. It would be a shock, but if he doesn’t swim now he knows he will regret it. He wades in, wincing as the waves crest over his shorts. He jumps, dives, surfaces, yelling in excitement. After a minute or two he is one with the water. His mind, ever anxious and full of judgement, quiets. He watches the waves, caring only about the rhythm; one, two, three, jump. Dive under, swim back, feel the undertow. It’s the only thing that matters, the noise in his mind muted to the furthest reaches of the sky.