Summer's here, the surf is rough, but the call of the sea is unmistakable. It's time to catch that wave.
You wade out past the breakers until you are the last one out there and no one left to standing in your way. You stare into the teeth of a six foot giant. It emerges as a wall of sea, rising higher as it gets closer. Suddenly it's towering over you, you feel dwarfed under its fury... no maybe this wasn't the wave you had in mind after all. Maybe you should just duck under this one - wooooah.
Too late, it's picked you up and now your hurtling into shore, the force of the momentum peels off your rash vest and lifts it over your head, you think you're going to shore.
Helpless like a golf ball in the rapids, the water jostles and presses you into the shore. It wouldn't be so bad, if it hadn't first lifted your legs over head and dusted your hair with gritty grains of sand.
You emerge from the surf like a creature from the black lagoon, with mangled rashy and your features barely visible beneath the mop of hair covering your face....
Something rough brushes against you, "Is that seaweed on my leg?" You wonder.
With epic grace, you rearrange your top, straighten your hair and scoop off the seaweed. Then pause to think....
The waves crash, the gulls squawk, the call of the sea is unmistakable and you go rushing in. Next time you'll nail the big one and pull out before the shore.