I look around from my warm pool to check who's left behind. It’s too hot today to walk quickly on this beach.
No invasion yet of tourists today- I could teach them a thing or two to take things slowly. Without rushing, to be more accepting, not so demanding. What are they looking for when they come here- let loose from the city into this tranquil place? They come to paddle in these still waters dressed in holiday attire, shrieking at what must be a rare taste of freedom. They stomp around grabbing all the beautiful shells they can find and pack them in their handbags. "Don't touch them", I want to say, "they are mine."
The fisherman and I have become good friends. Look at him- all lean muscle, I can even see the ribs on his chest from this far. His skin dark brown, is glinting in the white heat, contrasting against the sand. He’s got a pole across his shoulders- his net is hanging on one end and his lunch box and thick coir rope on the other.
I slip back into the emerald green water that’s very still at the sea’s edge. This isn’t one of those usual beaches with waves rushing back and forth performing for the visitors. This is a sea that works at my pace, a leisurely pace- with coiled shells and algae visible from the water’s end. A secret sea, this is. I’ve got many rings on my shell to prove it.
The fisherman is tiptoeing across the sand- its very hot today. I go up to him and look directly into his eyes. He smiles, relieved, and I straighten up and can feel myself grow taller and taller. My shell becomes broader and broader. I kneel down and he jumps on and I amble across the soft sand, shuffling slowly till we reach his hut at the corner of the beach.
