LightSong (a very short story)

She leaves the house, before light.  There are no children asleep, no husband to speak of.

She lives by the sea. Or lets call it the Ocean. We are with her, in America. In California actually. Somewhere near Half Moon Bay.

Air is sponged with early damp. Almost chilly, with bare shoulders and plimsolls. Her hair has grown longer, her highlights grown out, wearing a nutmeg crown atop fine blonde streamers that run down to her collarbone.

She never wakes early. Unless she has something to do, somewhere to be, to meet, to mend. Her footsteps slow as she picks her way over the salty stones. The nightshade makes it difficult to see, but somewhere on the horizon a piece of music, something like the sound of morning, plays to her.

Ocean. Ocean. Sea.  Beautiful words. She rolls them over her tongue, again and again until a prayer forms.

Kindly, the sea has waited for her. 

Plimsolls come off without a thought, dress pulled up, and off.  She twists and pulls off her ring, and dispenses it inside the left shoe. 

Walk with me to the waters edge.  It is so peaceful here. Where are the birds? Maybe they are still sleeping in their nests.

Her nipples prick and pin, as the air sips her naked skin.  Sand makes no noise, she says aloud and slows her steps. She genuinely needs to feel these moments as wholly as possible. No rush. Why rush?  So she looks down at her toes, and gives them her full attention for only a few moments, but these moments feel like whole minutes. 

Not pretty feet. Never have been. Boxy, flat, in need of a clipping, a file- the nails have not been touched in months. No wonder she keeps finding holes in the toes of her stockings. She makes a mental note to retrieve her clippers from her friend. Why does he have them anyway?

Thoughts. Keep it simple.

So, breathe. In, and out.   Easy.

But your feet are beautiful. Really.

She takes another step, swinging her leg fully, extending her foot right out in front of her, and opens her chest up to the score of the sea. Another step, swing. Step, swing, step swing. 

Here, the sand starts to become damp. The lightsong is already starting to be sung. The beach is empty.

It is empty. She looks around to check. Does a full turn. Makes it into a small dance. Lifts both arms up into the spacious dark blue and proceeds to launch herself into a run, forward, into the water.

A warrior woman. 

She needs none other.