The Ordinary Times

Secret Cove.

We lay on the sand, three bodies facing west. The only light came from the moon above the sea and the bonfire in the distance behind us. I hadn’t worn shoes in two days and my feet had grown numb to the cold. I could barely make out the ocean or its waves rolling forward.

The mushrooms made me nervous. I thought the water was considering taking us with it.  That morning I had finally noticed how the left and right edges of the cove arched into the ocean to form the shape of a dragon’s head and tail. We were nestled against her mountainous side and I imagined her giant sleeping belly rising and falling with each breath.

There had been a curious sea lion earlier in the day watching us from the bay. He would poke his shiny head up out of the waves and stare for a moment before disappearing into a crest. I hoped he was still out there watching us; taking breaks to snatch mussels from the tide pools.

My companions’ conversation drifted to the faces they could find in everything around us.  They spotted a Japanese soldier in the sand and a chubby woman’s face curling into the foam.  I told them I used to find faces in the ceiling of my bedroom as a child. We all agreed face finding was a sign of a healthy imagination.  Then we sat silent as if we had spoken enough words to fill the night sky. It was an extraordinary feeling for three bodies facing west.