Thoughts on a Lost Beach

      Thoughts on a Lost Beach beach stories

usagi Socially awkward swamp witch.
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
Thoughts, rebirth, and photography from my few days on a beach in Costa Rica.

Thoughts on a Lost Beach

A dozen dead crabs littered the sand, no doubt the unwanted scraps from birds cawing above, swirling through the wind gusts in search of another crab to half devour.

In another lifetime, I would have found the sight of the dismantled crabs hideous, a sad side effect of nature.

Yet today, as the waves boisterously crashed on the rocks ahead of me, sprinkling my flesh with white sea foam,

the crab carcasses scattered amongst drift wood and rotting coconuts seemed perfectly beautiful.

They call this place the lost beach. Who knows why. I've seen hundreds of people come and go, fishing, swimming, taking perfect pictures with their perfect families.

No one here seems lost and clearly, it isn't a hard place to find, and yet, somehow the name is fitting. I see now that I was lost before I wandered through my life onto this beach.

The waves here found my soul and pulled her forward, the real version of her. I can feel her laying just beneath my skin, smiling as we are reunited here in the sand.

She wraps me in a familiar embrace, previously lost to monotony and depression. Her lips kiss my forehead, promising never to leave me alone again. I believe her.

Fishermen run the lengths of the beach in front of me, with their nets I don't completely understand. They hold handles that look like small tires.

One of them wraps loose netting around and around, soaking up the slack until he yanks a full net from the ocean.

I know nothing of fish and have no way of knowing what kind he has caught, but their silver scales glisten in the intense sun rays as they gasp for air out of their watery home.

He examines them briefly before dumping them in a divet in the rocks where water has begun to pool. How ingenius, to use the land in this way.

He yells something to his partner and he nods before sprinting back into the ocean with his small tires. Waves crash over both men, and not once do they back down.

Their gentle courage is inspiring. I watch in awe as they dive into the harsh waves, convinced they are mermen in disguise.

They are one with the ocean, dancing together in a perfectly choreographed waltz across the sea floor.

Their grace is hidden from the world, but I see it here today as blatantly as I see myself changing beneath the brutally hot sun.

The ocean turns to fervent rivers between the rocks , hitting at them with some unknown source of aggression. It seems the water is trying to overtake the earth, and maybe she will succeed.

Waterfalls of ocean spray dribble from the sides of the rocks, plummeting back to the diamond laced sea.

How I wish I could be the seafoam, dancing angrily against the rocks, against the shore, forever locked in a battle for territory.

My quiet observation quickly transforms into a slow stroll across the shore where I discover a piece of drift wood with a perfect circle in between the twisting wood.

Clearly, a portal to another world. Gazing upon it, I realize I stepped through the portal without even knowing I had made the journey.

This world of sanctimonious perfection lords over my psyche, healing it softly with encouraging words from the waves.

My feet lead me onto the rocks where more surprises await. Just ahead of my toes, a crab leaps from one rock to the next with a level of skill I had not expected.

I was beginning to think no live crabs existed on this beach, and to my pleasure, here they are, astonishingly black and brown, camouflaged against the rocks they scatter across.

I have begun to realize that life is all around us, you simply have to be quiet enough to hear it speak to you.

Sweat pours from my every pore and I don't feel disgusting. I feel a part of this scenery, all of us embracing the sun as a source of energy and revitalization.

I let the toxins of my old self leave me in my sweat and I feel anew, like I can finally breathe.

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