Surf's Lullaby

I wasted most of Sunday between my table and my bed. The only productive work that I got done was marking a philo paper, which I incidentally got quite a number of questions wrong, and fuzzing up my hair from all that intermitent sleeping.

I wasn't fatigued, just bedshaped. You know, one of those states where the really hot and humid sunday afternoon weather just makes every little thing so difficult. Yup, that's it. That's why too.

Well, not all is lost, anyway. I've composed a simple piece for my SOM project. Rather surprised at the outcome -- when the pieces fell into place, the music was just smooth. I'd call it 'Surf's Lullaby" if I didn't have to name it after my matriculation number, as stipulated.

And I dedicate it to you, wilful surfer. With your drowned crown hung against a glorious backgroud of molten gold. While cowboys would sooner ride away into the sunset, you walk away, surfboard in hand, trailing a ridge of sand behind you. Your wet locks trickle the day's takings -- only the sea shares your passion for the wet and the dangerous. But she is not your enemy, neither are her waves your allys. You glance back, from behind dripping curtains, and sniff a salute to her -- your medium. You'll be back, and she'll be waiting with that characteristic frothy impatience. "What took you so long," her chatter pesters you each day. "What do you hold for me today," you answer her riddle, with one of your own. One last breath, before you head home. One last breath, that would still smell different from the first you took this morning upon the beach. Away you walk, away from the sunset... Into the night. "Tomorrow is another big day," you think, "maybe tomorrow, maybe..."