The mood is summer, the shallows the temperature of blood. Bodies glisten at distances, me on a strip of sand watching flesh tan on alternate strips.
Tourists struggle over the rocky coast they dip and jerk like marionettes in a school play.
The sea smells of weeds and salt. Coconut trees bend for the sun. The sand moves as I move, shifts to accommodate. I feel beached, marooned in mid-life with Coppertone bottle, wet trunks and cotton towel. Breakers pound the wall at Black Point.