A memory in the sand

Inspiration, I need inspiration.  I have been sitting at my desk for almost four hours without a break and the drumming of the rain on the roof is still louder than the drumming of my fingers.  My story will not come to me.  I stare out the window for the umpteenth time today and mutter at myself out loud.  I have been trying to finish my article on Bali for a new publication, but perfection, or perceived perfection has been evading me for too long.  Frustration wins and I leap up shoving my chair back.  It flies across the room and collides with my tripod and nearly sending my precious Canon careening into the window.  Long arms save the day and I rest my hand on my camera gazing out the window once more.  Suddenly a patch of blue sky catches my eye and I race out on the deck only to feel the warming rays of the South African sun slicing through the gap in the clouds.

Inspiration always resides on my beach and with a grey sky backdrop and fresh sunshine for props I grab my camera and race out the house barefoot, sarong in hand.  Four minutes later I emerge at the end of the dune path and out on to the silky pale sand.  A smile creeps into my soul and already the revised sentences to my unfinished article begin to take form somewhere in my muddled head.   The rain has turned the sand into a carpet and the shells and pebbles, half buried, are my subjects.  Squatting down I get closer to my canvas.

“It looks like fancy eye shadow, don’t you think?” Kirsty, who has been scribbling hearts with a piece of bamboo, is rubbing the grains between her fingers.  The sun glints off the silica as I bury my feet into the charcoal black beach trying to get the perfect shot.  The wet sand is glossy and it looks as though it will stain every item of clothing you have.  I come across a group of pebbles begging for a photo and as I crouch down I feel that bubble of excitement tickle my stomach.  Bali, who would have ever thought I would be standing on a beach half way up the West coast of this exotic island.  Two months ago I was sitting behind a desk staring out a tiny window dreaming of escape. One resignation letter, a world currency card with my life savings, a 5 week volunteer project in Mauritius and a wedding invitation to Bali was all I needed to get here.

I straighten up and feel the ache in my legs from crouching too long, lost in thought.  My eyes follow the line of white foam as it tries to reach my toes and I watch it wash over the flat black pebble.  I pick it up, a perfect stone for skimming.  I put it in my pocket and head off down the beach towards the lagoon mouth.  The slate sky, still thick with this morning’s rain is moving off along the coast leaving half a rainbow peeking out behind the point.  This is why I live here.  The west wind blows the cobwebs out my head and fills my soul with imagination.  I head home in a hurry, the new ideas and paragraphs are beginning to overflow and I did not bring a notebook to catch them.

 

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