Arrow

I touch this rock every time I paddled out, no matter what. There isn't a true rip through the gap, sometimes the force of incoming waves washes you backwards, it can be a little squirrelly but I reach out and touch the rock no matter. On a high tide wash it's not hard to imagine being swept onto the top of the long flat slab.It reminds me of an aircraft carrier in that is immense and stands out from all the others for that reason. A forced landing is not entirely out of the question. I play here at the base of a sand dune that moves massive quantities of sand every year, paddling out to surf where for thousands of years, thousands of others had eked out an existence from the sea's bounty. Trees precariously cling to the very top fighting for life, quite isolated from all other flora, somehow making a life in the sand.
Sometimes the roots of those trees kick out a reminder from the past inhabitants here, those who shared this view. And before it's covered up by a footstep a lucky find is made. Whales and waves both meet at this cove and there is a symmetry in the arrowhead and the surfboard for me. One set of eyes scanning for seals and a home for the arrow, new eyes scanning the rocks and horizon for a telltale bump of the arriving sets and a slot for a sleek glass board.