The Night Beach

You are lying on wet sand. You look down. 

The coarse, damp grains cling to your fingers. 

They look ghostly white in the black sunlight. 

The sky is completely devoid of light, 

like an inky black blanket has been tossed over it, drowning all the sunlight. 

There is water. 

Further down, black swell laps at the shore. 

The sand takes the inky water, 

soaks it in, 

and then gives it right back to the next wave, and begins the cycle anew.

It is raining. 

Very lightly, little fingertips of water tap you gently on the head, the shoulder, and your hands, all competing for your attention. 

A gentle wind sweeps through your hair. 

You shiver, but it’s that good kind of shiver. A shiver of excitement and calm at the same time. 

You are wearing a jacket. It weighs you down from how wet it is, but you keep it on. 

There is tall grass behind you, past the beach. 

It waves at you, a little greeting. 

Or at least you think that is what it is. It is almost too dark to see.

There is a dock, stretching out over the water. 

It is rickety, and worn down.

It gives off the feeling that it might collapse if you were to walk on it. 

The wet, rotting wood looks fuzzy from little bits of damp wood beginning to flake off.

Branching off of the dock are ropes. 

Dark, wet ropes, covered in seaweed and 

barnacles from years of being half-submerged in water. 

It is almost too dark to see, but some of those ropes 

are connected to boats. 

They bob up and down on the murky waves.

There are rocks a little farther down the beach. 

A short natural wall of weathered rock stands solemnly, marking the end of the beach. 

There is probably something around it, but you don’t feel like exploring right now. 

You just lie there, shivering, listening to the sound of the waves, forever nipping at the feet of the dry sand, just to be pulled away to join your brothers in the ocean.

On the opposite side of the wall of rock, there is endless beach. It must end somewhere, but that somewhere is out of sight.

On the horizon, you spot something. A pinpoint of light, like a hole has been poked through the inky dome that is the night sky, and just a little bit of light can shine through. 

Another one appears next to it. 

And another. 

The rain lets up, and then you fully see it. 

A huge tapestry of stars festoons the great black canvas of the sky. 

The moon must be somewhere, but wherever it is, you can’t see it.

There you are. 

Lying in the cold waiting for something, bathing in the darkness.

It doesn’t matter what happens next. 

Whatever it is it will come to you; no need to go chasing after it. 

You might never get up. The morning will come eventually. It always will, there’s no stopping it. 

For now, you can just rest, shivering, wishing to blend into the beach and be nothing again.

After you lie there for what feels like a lifetime, slowly, slowly you get up. 

You stand there, taking in the vastness of the seemingly infinite black ocean. Then silently, so as not to disturb the night, you leave.

The stars keep shining. 

The wind keeps blowing. 

The ocean keeps churning, sending wave after wave gently tumbling into the sand, then taking it back, into the chaotic, tumbling ocean. 

Silently, the night beach looks on.