Another set rises far ahead.
For now, the water around me is calm.
The sun warms my wet back.
I catch my breath—
still tired from the last.
For a moment, I rest.
Then the swell grows.
I search for a way through,
but before I can turn,
the wave pulls me under.
I tumble in its grip,
reach toward where I think the surface is.
I need air.
The longer I’m under,
the harder it is to know where.
I have been here before.
How did I get through it last time?
I draw my arms close,
curl against the force,
hoping the reef stays out of reach.
I wait for the water
to loosen its hold.
When it does,
I break the surface,
gasp for air.
Through the blur,
the shore is still there.
But I am weak.
Can I make it back?
As I gather my breath,
I feel a tug at my ankle—
the leash,
my board still attached.
I pull it close,
rest my weight across it.
The water keeps moving beneath me.
I don’t know how far I can paddle.
For now,
I have something to hold on to.