there's a raw discomfort that claws its way into your consciousness when you catch sight of someone trudging along the gritty expanse of a sandy beach, not in pursuit of leisurely strolls or the poetic embrace of a sunset, but with a determined gait that speaks of unseen burdens. it's as though they've stumbled into this shoreline sanctuary not to revel in its natural beauty but to confront their murky truths, dragging along with them an unsuitable companion - be it a battered trail bike or a makeshift pram filled with their belongings, both equally out of place amidst the grains of debris, rubbish, dog shit, and sand.
one evening alone, i found myself trapped in this unsettling tableau, slumped in melancholy upon the tactile, welcoming sands of authority beach. the sun, a weary traveller, was bidding its farewell with a fiery display that cast long shadows over the weathered figure approaching. his silhouette merged with the horizon and this beaming conduit of orange hope, his every step etched into the salty terrain beneath him.
as he drew nearer in puffs and awkward pulls against his tyres and longevity, the air crackled with an intangible tension, a palpable grittiness that seemed to seep from his dirty pores. his presence was a testament to the moment. i related to his journey as i also bore a relentless march of time, a living embodiment of the corroding power of salt and sand on sanity. he was a stained mirage but a signal of salvation, no lesser of a human than the next visitor to this beach.
the bike he dragged behind him was a testament to this harsh reality, its once-shiny frame now pitted and worn, its wheels caked with the detritus of countless trips, tight escapes from misfortune, and cut corners to quicken his pilgrimage to a better place of being, a place to sleep the night sheltered from the onslaught of this small seaside. clearly, this battered steed held a significance far beyond its rusted facade - perhaps a relic of past adventures or a beacon of hope in a sea of uncertainty.
but it wasn't just the physical decay that marked this scene; the symbolic weight hung heavy in the salty air. each step seemed to dredge up memories long buried beneath the surface, each grain of sand a reminder of past regrets and forgotten dreams.
as he passed by, a plastic bag clutched tightly in one hand; i couldn't help but wonder at the stories etched into the lines of his weathered face. unapologetically, i caught myself frightened by the lifespan of both object and man. his gaze, fixed upon some distant horizon, spoke of a soul adrift in a sea of uncertainty, searching for solace in the rhythmic churn of the waves. it was impersonal of me to fear discarding this single-use item as it likely held more value and use to him, holding his life's belongings.
as the last rays of sunlight and this 20-minute mirage slipped out of my control, this man disappeared beyond the horizon, casting the beach into shadow; i couldn't shake the feeling that beneath the surface of this seemingly mundane encounter lay secrets darker and more enigmatic than the depths of the harbour itself. in this gritty, saline world where salt meets sand, and dreams dissolve like grains of salt on the tongue, who's to say what truths lie waiting to be uncovered in the algae spawn and murky depths of the unknown? even still, i wondered what drudgery he dug up of me.