I am sitting on a round but short squat stone. It is smooth and I am comfortable. Below the cliff where I sit, are hundreds of similar stones. They are black like polish and have been rubbed smooth by the continuous lap of the sea. The water around is an almost green-blue and stretches all the way out into the forever blue of a cool midday. There is a skinny tall boy standing on the rocks. His boyish face carries atop a thick bush of almost-white blonde hair and he is laughing loudly. The suit he wears is all black and covers him from neck to ankles and makes him look sick-like and skinny. Small but strong waves smash against his legs as he gingerly walks stone by stone further out. He is now waist deep and the wide white and green checked board he carries with him is floating on top of the water at his side. In the way he holds it - awkwardly and unsure - I can tell he is new to this. He is still laughing though, and in the loudness of his laugh, you can hear a sort of forgiveness. A whisper of an admission. For his inadequacies, yes, but also for the strength and persistence of the never-ending call of the sea.
He is paddling now and as he does the waves are growing bigger and stronger like small Everests, and soon I will lose sight of him. He paddles further and I can hear the steady buzz of all the life behind me. He is still paddling, and like a dream, I can hear the eeriness of his laugh while the picture of his person slowly dissolves away into the nothingness of forever and the sea.