RiderShip

She awoke easily to the sounds of early morning. Sitting up slowly observing the stillness of her sleeping partner, the slight rise and fall of his chest. It would be an hour or more before he awoke.

The light was soft, spilling into the sparsely furnished bedroom. She slid out of bed careful not to disturb the dog that inevitably curled himself into the warm spot between the two bodies as they slept. Any quick movement would be sure to wake the dog sending him into an angry snarling fit. It is always amazing how she made these kinds of adjustments unconsciously.

Quietly she made her way to the bathroom to retrieve her swimsuit from the shower door where she had rinsed it out and left it to dry. She studied its fabric for a brief minute noticing how the sand had penetrated the fibers before she carefully slid into it.

With a short glance back at the clock she slipped out the door, slid into her flip flops, grabbed her surf board from it’s rack, threw it up onto her head to make her way down the driveway away from the house.

The plants were still dewy. Was it dew? It looked too heavy. Slowly she began to recall the hammering sound the rain had made, the night before, against the tin roof over head. Lying there in the dark staring at the ceiling, eyes wide, ears wider, drinking in the sounds from above. Her husband had said something to her but she could not make out all his words for the sound of the rain on the roof drowned him out. She thought about this and the fact that she had not recalled the rain or the middle of the night exchange until the visual cues gave her a reminder. Why is it that you can be so awake in the middle of the night so sure to recall its events and be so forgetful of them at daybreak? she thought.


Sturdy tanned legs carried her down the gravel road carefully dodging mud puddles the size of toddler pools. It was a familiar road and as she drew nearer her destination the roar of the ocean greeted her.

Reaching the beach she paused her movements eyes fixed on the breaking waves.

Kicking off her flip flops beside a large fallen tree, well away from the water’s edge, she placed the board on the sand beside her, knelt down, scooped up a handful of sand and began rubbing it into the wax on her board.

Methodically she attached the leash to her left ankle, picked up the board and made her move toward the ocean. The water was warm. She shuffled her feet so as not to step on a stingray as she waded deeper into the water.

The sun, not yet fully up in the sky, was reflecting a pink and orange glow over the waves and the front of her board.

She loved this time of the morning. She felt at peace. This was her magic hour.

She paddled hard against the ocean's white water until she found her place on the outside of a breaking set. Sitting up straddling the board between her legs, listening to the sound of her heart pounding in her ears in a way only a vigorous exercise can produce. Beating in time with the crashing waves. Again, her mind wandered off. This time she thought of the sounds of the city, the drone of traffic, complaints of impatient commuters, car horns, she thought of the endless list of tasks she could be lining up to complete, jotting each one down in a mental list instead of in her blackberry. How far away she was from all of that right now.

Choosing a wave carefully, she readied her self, folded over the board onto her belly and paddled hard. With the water’s help she dropped into the wave. Effortlessly, popping up onto her feet. Instantly, feeling the rush of adrenaline gust over her body.
She grinned from ear to ear.
She could not help it.
She was giddy.
Flying over the water at a break neck speed was exhilarating. This was her element.
Made even sweeter was the fact that it was first thing Monday morning, she was riding her long board not the commuter train and this surfing paradise was her Zen.