|Me in Bali|
Elapsing into pale blue silk, the sun drizzled drops of its rays, and they spread out in incredible stains. The wind subsided, round boat, as brown as a basket, lay on the sand, the flowers of trees from the hill smelled. Their scent always held back till the evening and only at dusk emerged on its short intoxicated promenade.
We did not talk. We walked along the embankment, and the giant was silent beside us. Dark and cold. Only sometimes its broad round like a stingray wing slightly moved, and then the sand rustled, and the grains of our souls rose and fell with it. Or our souls were these drops, and we stirred in our inner oceans pebbles of possibilities and sand of junctures.
As soon as we enter the water with the board, under the endless desperately blue flowing sky, we have surfing and experience the range of sensations that can gift only the ocean and dynamic colloquy with it. Now it flows in our blood vessels, flows through our hearts. To the blood density of red it mixes the blue, and our thoughts no longer tolerate a conditional, trivial framework.
© Elin Vidoff