Pismo
The sky is ablaze with a luminous orange and fiery reds. The sun quietly starts to dip over the horizon, its last rays winding through the unwavering pilings beneath the pier and spilling out over the sand in a perfect array of polar stripes. A fisherman casts his line over the pier, patiently waiting. Lone surfers linger in the distance, mirroring the ebb of the tide. The sky transforms into a blanket of hazy sherbet hues, painting the crystal blue waves with the last of its light. The world gives away to the indigo of the night as the salty air chills, the tantalizing winds of the sea beckoning you closer and closer. The melodic waves ring in your ears and the winds whisper their deepest secrets, hypnotizing your soul. You leave the scene breathless with a new found sense of serenity and comfort. All your sorrows are lifted as you walk away wistfully, just two words of promise lingering on your lips.
“Next time.”
“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.”
Who would’ve guessed that ten years later, while the world embraces a collective nostalgia for 2016, I’d find myself revisiting this hobby again.