The Writers' Circle

Written by
Harvina A. Britain






    	Tessa parked the car, turned off the overworked engine. She stepped out of the car, stretching her long legs and shaking her blonde hair. With excited anticipation she checked into the hotel, dumping her luggage in the room, she began her much needed weekend. Unpacking would come later, much later, she needed the ocean air to revive her spirit. Tessa changed her clothes, putting on a comfortable tee-shirt and capris; shoes were purposefully left on the floor. Grabbing a ball cap, she literally raced from her room headed for the seashore.

      Making her way down the steep hillside, sliding as she went in the thick sand, she reached the shore in a matter of minutes. Finally she was home. It was in her blood, growing up by the ocean was a blessing in disguise. It renewed her, revived her spirit and soul. She had walked quite a distance, away from the tourists, to a spot secluded by the jutting rocks and turns in the shore. 

      She splashed in the water, digging her toes in the sand, shaking spray from her hair and felt life flow through her. Never again would she wait so long to come back here. It renewed her in ways nothing else could or would. 

     She tired of the splashing so she lay down on the sandy shore, letting the sun warm her, listening to the crashing of the waves. Tessa closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep. Not needing to worry, the sea would always protect her. The dream came naturally, like the waves, driftwood and shells found on the shore.      It was peaceful and full of memories found only on a beach in the afternoon. They too faded like the sunset over the horizon, making the sand glow with brilliant pinks and orange that could not be found anywhere else in the world, except here on her seashore.

     When Tessa awoke, the dream had startled her with its intensity. The sun was starting its' descent; with the dive of the sun the temperature took its cue and dipped as well. Tessa had thought to bring matches, a holdover from her days of living here at the seashore.

      Tessa got up and began gathering driftwood to build the fire that was cliché on the beach. She had built too many to count; was a pro at bonfires on the beach. Scooping the sand out with the seashell she had found intact, she placed the pieces of wood and lit the fire.

     She picked up a random piece, each with a different story by the shape and size that the sea cut out for it, reminded her of the stories that weaved the pattern of her life. Tessa soon had a roaring fire, having finished her task, she settled to watch the remaining sunset, complete with colors one only found while sitting in the sand, dreaming of life, love and peace. Tessa always found these things at the beach. And Tessa always took a shell, a bit of sand and a piece of driftwood to remind her again of all that life offered.