Jeffreys Bay

You are standing at the window. The ocean is right there — you can see it from where you are standing, you could walk to it in four minutes, you counted once.

Everyone else has already gone.

You can hear them from here. The sound carries — the water, the boards, the particular noise people make when their bodies are doing exactly what they came here to do.

You are still inside.

There is a reason. Your shoulder is a little tight today. The timing is off. It makes more sense to watch first, to understand the mechanics, to go when the conditions are better.

You stand at the window.

The light on the water is doing something specific — a brightness that moves, that won't stay still. You watch it. You are aware that you are watching it from inside a room.

You could go.

You are not going.

You turn back to what you were doing. It was something reasonable. It needed to be done.

Outside, the sound continues.