I know this blue.
From those days that lasted forever with the faded umbrellas and hot town of towels sprawled out from the fringe-circled shade. Our uncle showed us the place.
From where we stood it looked like wild white thunderous mush.
The edge was our place and the run from rushing destruction.
Our homes and castles and roadways wiped flat in one stroke
that might tickle the toes of the sleepers and readers in safety.
You said you can’t go in there, but I valiantly tried over and over,
to be thrown back every time, crumpled and wet in a heap.
It was our uncle that could.
He’d disappear for hours then land back with a whoop at our feet.
Take me too, I begged and one day he did. He said hold on and I’ll show you.
His hands were big and his arms were strong and I floated behind like a string.
He planted each foot in front of the other while I waved around holding tight.
The whiteness surged and swirled and pulled but he flung me up on his back.
I held his shoulders, he yelled take a breath and we plunged down into the mess.
You know that feel of your father’s back, big, or was it the oil, but I slipped.
I opened my eyes and saw it then – the blue.
He found my hand and showed me his other, dug deep in the sand holding on.
Up above was the boil but around us was blue and still and calm and surreal.
The pull subsided and we bent our knees up and pushed from the sand we had held. Sucking in air I looked back at him and knew I burst the same smile.
I’d arrived, in another world.
I spent all summer in that blue space, sometimes you joined me too.
Once you got it that you couldn’t half dive or half go down, all the way to the bottom, or half stay there, the whole of the time, till all the chaos all was gone.
Then we’d pretend to take tea and be at the bottom of the sea
till the storms and body parts rolled over our skies
and we came out the other side.
Thanks again to Illustration Friday for for creating an amazingly nurturing and inspiring community of artists and throwing out prompts that get me started like this weeks "Power"