I skimmed my eyes along her surface. Checking out lines and moods.
I walked a while beside her, looking deeper, reading what I could of the currents beneath her surface. Together they could aide in telling me what line to choose-- and cross-- when I at long last breach her...
I found it... picked checkpoints along the way... set out between the two rocks I knew were the portal...
In slow at first, shallow. Feeling the sensation of her temperature change begin to envelop me the deeper I go...
At last, time... under the surface, under that wave, for I want, I need, further out...
And under another, and up breathing, and stroking, and reaching... and another wave, and I am just beyond the breaking point--
And can turn direction, slow and steady the strokes... look for those checkpoints.
Skimming along her surface...the warm-cool sensation of being in her, riding her waves... a bit of surge needed every now and then to get back out of the break where I'd riden her wave for a moment, letting it draw me in, being with and not against...
But this wasn't my time to get out... I have further to go.
Stroking longer now, and longer between drawing in quick breaths that continue to climb audibly with each intake...
And at last, lungs burning, change to a slower stroke, head not under so much, and ride this outer-break and move slowly, inexorably, towards that destination, that shore.
I've let her waves, sometimes cutting across them, sometime paralleling, often riding and seldom working against, but always let her waves wash away what tensions I have.
Tasting her salt, now slowly stroking her surface, I near shallow and more shallowing waters... sand beneath my feet... her body, for I have at last ridden her wave all the way in...
Warm and wet, then a little farther up hot and dry, the sands beneath my feet.
Shore-- that magickal spot that is neither Ocean nor Land, but Both, and a transitional time-place like Dawn, or Dusk...
It was nice, this... contact, this wetting and riding and stroking releasing and grounding ...
Very nice.
I took the drum to the park, played, got lost in rhythm and tone.. lost in the voices the skin makes with varying amounts of hand pressure on her back...
Nice night.
The crescent waxing maiden above, standing by my garden later night listening to the call I have heard for it seems aeons-- that Voice...
I hear it...
I hear the ocean of waves and tides...
I hear it...the rhythm of her pulsing skin...
I hear...Frogs, and Crickets, and that poor mis-timed mocking bird, surely gonna give hisself in song away to that nightowl...
And I hear the background noise... the cars, and the stars, and the sun even now firing some equal portion of her skin, even as I am soon to slumber...
And I KNOW I have been given a Good Day, and Night...
Good day and night, my friends.
Slainte!
Cygnus
