Cross your legs and close your eyes, we’re going to share some time together in the sunshine.
We’re sitting in a time-warp, a scene repeated each day, every season, year after year. A dropping tide exposes mangrove roots to an impossibly blue sky, a sky so clear you have to wonder where the wind hides?
Ancient aerial roots stand like burnt party candles, or perhaps, like dead men’s fingers, pointing to a day they cannot share; choked in mud and suffocating under the weight of sand and tides.
I’ve always been fond of mangroves; an unfriendly tree at the best of times, but I know they hold the secret to sweet fish and an underwater world of crabs and scuttlerly things, hiding lost fishing hooks and dreams of the one that got away.
A lone gull parades in red stockings, quickly shuffles along with the wind to his back. Neck feathers ruffle in a stand-up collar. Elvis would be proud.
Looking around, it’s easy to unravel the wall of sound that surrounds me; like an old jumper, strand by strand.
A crow to my left, no doubt exclaiming his free lunch left by a careless worker.A mother and her plump child in a bright blue hat, dragging a large stick. Looking for something in the clear blue waters edge. Small fish perhaps, anxious to retreat to the shady cool of the mangrove’s safety and protection.
Behind me, walkers shuffle along a sand-strewn track, thongs scuffling an emery board sound in rhythm to their laugh and chatter.
Ker-chunk ker-chunk denotes skateboarders, breezing past in shorts and attitude. Further to my right; under a spreading she-oak tree, and drenched in motterly shade, teens play a bastardized game of soccer, more pushing and shoving than any skilled kicking. The ball lands with a dull thud.
Overhead, an unseen plane wings its way to sea, its passengers no doubt staring at the coastline for one last glimpse of their holiday. Kids drift past in a blue and white kayak, too tired to paddle, they let the wind gently move them slowly along; giving them time to think and dream and chat and just sit about and watch the world glide past. Messing about on boats.
Darker patches of water hide leaves and stingrays basking in the arm shallow waters, whilst sandbars tippy-toe out of the water, waiting for children’s footprints, a dogs bark, seagulls tracking.
Crabs roll sand-balls out of habit, then hide. An outgoing tide, turns, and begins again.Incoming tide.