Afternoon

The sand stirred up by the force of waves hit the light just right, so it was golden glitter making sacred shapes in a womb of salt water. I curl and expand and wind my body into knots, spinning deep and glittering too, we dance.

That’s my spot, there, from out of the water womb, under the sea eagle’s flight path, and the cabbage butterflies’ flutter paths, beside the wildflowers that entice the brave bees, and the biscuity rock carved by salt and tides. Here, I roll myself up in a layer of warm sand, wash it off in cold ocean, repeat again, turn myself intermittently like something edible in an oven, golden brown, freckles made from salt and sun, read to the end of my novel

and then just sit and watch it all unfold.