Sand scuff spraying, board wax melting off in an Equator tide. "Surf" marred by internet, yet on Netflix I find The Endless Summer. Commas connecting sentence fragments, long stretches riding a cress. Hilarious documentary narrator making up facts. Cape St. Francis, South Africa worth long dune exploration. Somewhere in all these surf movies, Fish People, Resurface, I realize. I want to ride on top a wave! I always would hang out just past the crest. There I sang to the dolphins, and sometimes they returned. Swimming long hours in the ocean. But I looked disdainfully at boards, they impeded my style. Maybe I would have gone without the suit.
All the accessories bummed my bum. I finally am really getting the point of surfing. Even the crash has a purpose.
So I am hatching a dream to someday stand on a board and catch a perfect wave. This summer at Ocracoke I hope to start with body surfing. I've been building my own buoyancy, a flotation device of sorts. Won't you come?