A Fever
Early morning. The sun came up. It does this reliably. We had paddled out into the dark, as is our want. This time of year the water is beautiful and warm. A fresh westerly blew across the sea, giving us a minor chill which disappeared immediately as soon as we got in the water. We had struck out into the night, and navigated our way forward to the point, there where the waves rolling in from the open ocean first meet the unwavering land, the obstacle that forces the water up onto its heels, causing it to rear up like a brumby, bend its head in a graceful arc, and bow, break and crash into perfect peelers that run the length of our bay. There had been just four of us out, partners in crime, catching waves in companionable solitude. No one, it seems, is insane enough to surf when the only light to work by is the stars. Dunno why, I’m sure. Once the sun sticks up its head and brings warmth and light into the world, the second shift can be seen doing their stretches and wa