The moon rode above low clouds over the ocean’s cobalt gleam. The light was just enough to see from the beach to the water and to work our way through the rocks. I held her drink as she undressed and warmed at the sight of sun-kissed flesh and the creamy cloth-sheltered whiteness of her enticing skin.
She pirouetted, a ballerina in the moonlight. The sound of the surf and movement of waves her music; an accompaniment as she danced for the moon and me. Her feet left trails in the sand that led to a place where two people in love would eclipse the world and worries.
The wind kicked up and carried the tang of salt from the sea and that hard to describe scent; one a sailor knows so well, of where land meets the sea. Inbound, it heralded a homecoming; outbound, it meant the longing began. I tasted it on her lips and, brushing hair aside, the nape.
Her hands, fingertips tracing—brushing lightly—down my chest to the flat of my stomach, were gentle as the sea breeze and just as soothing as she knelt on the sand. There she lingered. My toes curled to grip the sand; a stiffening and loosening as I turned my face up to see those silent celestial observers of countless moments of love, lust, and loss near and on the sea. She rose only long enough to help me spread the blanket we’d brought with us. Soon the moan of the sea wind, mingled with the surge-sound of breakers that swirled and eddied among the rocks, was joined by our own. Two people in a place of wind and water and a time where body and soul become one.