I intend to write a descriptive piece of writing about Trigg Beach Australia. I intend to add figurative language.
It is summer. Early Sunday morning rays ricochet off the Indian ocean surface, flickering stars not in their usual place. A black rubber cloak drapes around my waist, stabbed in the sand, my patched up board stands. Fixed in place, I’m immovable. At the moment, Albert Einstein’s theory seems to almost be true. The tick of a second lasts almost a minute. My eyes dart across the horizon, sponging up every detail of where blue and blue meet. “Tick”, and what seemed an eternity ago is gone a fleeting memory as i duck-dive wave after wave, Whano whano, as I battle the sea. The body of Tangaroa, with great power tries but to no avail, pushing me back. Past the break, I sit chest out chin up, with the salty sea lapping at my waist. “Patterns” “Patterns” “Patterns”, the visual cortex complex as it is works tirelessly to recognize the best swell before it presents itself, to what is now an numerous audience eagerly waiting.
e hoa mā, ina te ora o te tangata, ne!
“My friend this is the essence of life.”
My ride back is fast approaching, muscles flex pulling the board through the currents, darkness looms, the sun backs down to this monstrosity. “Faster, faster.” With what ever energy left, I channel it into driving the board down. I pop up absorbing the roller coaster feeling in the pit of my stomach. I go to turn left, but wanting to eat me up, it blocks my path. Pumping my board, like Kelly Slater, I crouch lower, lower; Just…! making it from it’s clutches, I dare challenge this taniwhā, another day.
The ageing day gradually shuffles along. A sweltering sunny Sahara everywhere but here. The light onshore breeze lowers your core temperature just enough to be bearable. The Australian dream is present on this beachfront. The rolled out red carpet walkway is part of the never-ending landscape. My bright yellow and green neon Penny board is in my hand as I struggle to see through the constantly rising heat rays. I survived the sea, to live another day.
Listen. Morning waves still being tamed by the early surfer, and shops yawning open their doors to welcome in the day. The beachfront is a clock working with such habit, as I roll along, looking for my favorite Times square like billboard. Yelo Cafe if not for the birds and the waves, would be heard before seen. The bustling staff work as ants efficiently running the shop. No need to look around; loud chatter echoes, sharp laughs and lion-like roars come from every corner of this renovated house room, rebounding back to your now slightly sensitive ears. An antique Victorian style door bell notes my presence. Sensational aromas of fresh coffee beans and baking just being put out on display; a sign that I have just entered another realm.
People stumble up receiving their morning drug, knowing the rest of the crowded room is glaring wishing it could be them, eager to leave.
Even nature seems to lull in a peaceful sabbath rest. “Flynn”, the eco-friendly see-though cup, its contents a swirled mass of ice chocolate delight. “Ding” “Ding”, that world is left behind in a blur of green and yellow. Little by little mankind emerged into life, bringing noise and taking tranquility.
Look. My wrist whispers willingly in a monophonic tone, “10 oclock.” I know I have an hour till Church. Making my return back along this coastal line. My eyes drift left imagining what the rest of this magnificent day will present, gift wrapped with excitement and received with joy.
Whano: is when waves are pushing you back, that action is whano.
The phrase, “e hoa mā, ina te ora o te tangata ne: is a proveb/saying that apprciates what is happening or what has just been received.
Tangaroa: is the god of the sea.
Taniwhā: Monster, spritual being that is out for chaos.