She lived for salt in the air. Salt in her hair. And as the sun crashed against the horizon, spilling colours over the ocean, she watched. The night lay ahead of her open wide and empty of anything of worth. Nothing to do but be. No one to be but herself. The sunset of orange, pink and navy blue gives way to a black starless night. Salt air on her face, she breathes it all in.
The night and those who inhabit it call out to her. Their voices carry on the wind, accompanied by the smoke of a fire and the deep beat of the music played from cars. Ocean waves lap in the background, once a sound so dominating, it is overtaken by the noises of those gathered. Those gathering. Those who gather. Standing, not bothering to brush the sand from her clothes, she moves to join them.
Moments like these are her moment. This night is for her. This is her story. Wild flower.