The dark stretches far ahead of her, enveloping her in the blinding black of the hours before dawn. She hears the sound of her own voice bounce back off the dune, it bends with elasticity bringing itself back to her. More than an echo it is like she is in conversation with herself. Here in the darkness, she bares herself as if she were speaking to herself. Truth telling is best done in the dark.
She’s not alone. She can feel the warmth of the body close to hers as she speaks. Deep thoughts and formulated words of her opinion spill from her mouth. Almost whispered but in the silence the words are bold and strong. She doesn’t hide who she is or what she thinks. Emboldened by the night she shares herself.
The dawn birds call and she wakes from the lightest of sleep. Hers is not the only body on this beach this morning. With windswept hair and the scent of fire on her clothes, she makes her way down the beach alone to greet the sun. Her time here is coming to an end, but nothing can describe what nights like these mean. The hot nights of summer, the possibilities of love and lust and sand wrapped endeavours. She feels at home here.
As the first beams of the morning sun cause her to raise her hand to shade her eyes, she blinks at her memories. The people she met. The heat of the dancing flames on her face. The coolness of the sea breeze on her skin warmed by yesterday’s sun. They all leave their mark on her. Summer days. Summer nights. They shape her just as every fiction writer told her they would. She becomes herself here.
As another day unfolds in front of her in brilliant blues and sandy whites. She turns her back on the ocean and walks over the dunes.Unguarded. Free. This is her story. Wild Flower.