The Dancing Sun
It was dusk time.
I had just finished the day sandboarding in Lancelin, WA where the sand mercilessly whipped my body, thrashing against my tanned flesh, burrowing its way into every open crevice of my body. What a menace it enraged, the sand, an innocous object that presents itself so soft and fine when still of motion, the utmost evocation of luxury and relaxation, and yet here it taunts me so. What a two-faced witch, I thought bitterly as I fought my way up the sand dune post-descent, calf-deep with each step, eyes barely open a sliver, all I could taste was the fine fine particle, which sticks between my lips inducing a foam of saliva that begs to be ejected, but could not against the force of the howl.
Finally, I reach the top, and stagger toward the bus, clutching my board. Handing it over to the driver, I give a hasty acknowledging nod before finding refuge within the shelter.
Still recovering from such a complete assault on my senses, I slouch further in my seat and tuck my knees into my chest, crumpling myself into a little ball of sand and hair and skin, and turn my gaze towards the window.
The horizon is a stunning sight of deep magentas and lush violets and pinks. The setting sun darts in and out of the passing trees, which whips in a blur as the bus speeds along vacant, vast stretches of highways. Sparse houses laze on both sides, yawning as the metal box hums by. Why such a hurry, they seem to lament, faintly glaring with their downcast eyes, dressed in pretty English cottage curtains of pale petals and proper foliage.
I can’t keep my eyes off the dancing sun. It glows a deep, dark crimson…like a velvety cherry atop the most perfect black forest cake; a drop of blood that emerges at the tiniest prick of needle on the tip of one’s finger; a moist, juicy plum of fire; it moves fearlessly across the blazing sky.
I feel myself being pulled in by this fiery seductress. It blushes shamelessly, unleashing a wealth of violets that start from a warm plum, grows through a bold magenta, into a sea of rosegold, and faded out in a wash of hot pink. Its warmth emanates through the glass and coats my shadow in a fog of violets and pinks. I want to melt into its oblivion right then and there.
Suddenly, the bus jerks violently – a bump in the road.
My sunglasses slides sideways, and the visual poetry abrades.
I blink once…confusion seizes me.
Readjusting the shades on my nose and the horizon melts into view again, blazing as ever.
Taking it off, and the magic transforms into a spectrum of yellows…beautiful, but ordinary.
Ahhhhhhhhh, a wave of mixed nostalgia engulfs me. I feel cheated. Taken.
Deep breath. I will my heartbeats to still, and rest the dark grey curvatures against my cheeks.
I sink into the seat a little more.
The sand feels fine.
My last handwritten journal entry in 2009, finally deciphered.