He looked south to see what was coming. To time it just right. Maybe under this time as riding over went poorly. It almost always does. He takes a breath a slides into first the silence that’s followed by the instantaneous rumble of the brown-green water. Salt. Sting. And up again into the sun, so bright it jars him back into the present. Looking south. For the next wave. 

He’s out here to improve. The 5-10 seconds of each ride brining him back every time. He’s not good at it but it’s not about good. It’s about the sea. It’s the quiet that’s slightly interrupted by the noise from the beach. The laughs. The music. The ebb of the waves rolling in and out. A bird here and there. He can sit out here waiting for hours. To pick the right wave, at the right time. To pop up and be “doing it”, even for a moment. Brought back again to the draw of it all. 

He’s been beyond lucky in his opportunities. Costa Rica, Hawaii, California, Cabo, South Carolina. Some of the greatest spots in the world. Each time. A little better. Too much time in between. He feels the age attack the learning curve. He returns to the beach tired. Content. 

He looks out to the South, from the top of a piece of foam, legs a taunting snack to the sharks below. 

He smiles. Turns. And paddles with everything he has.  Misses, turns and heads out again to wait. 

#hugsandhi5s