On Waves upon Waves upon Waves....

Poetry is not for me.  I find it tiresome and unnecessarily convoluted. But every time I step out onto the beaches of Ilheus, the scene inspires nothing short of love.  The beaches are unlike any others I know:

The sand is a modest brown, but so fine that it packs down hard and flat - you can easily ride a bike on it or even bounce a basketball.  The beach is so flat that at low tide the water recedes dramatically.  The waves break in simultaneous rows of five or six: thunderous ones that only the surfers brave farther out to sea and subsequently smaller ones that break over each other until they are barely ankle high.

I love how the waves come in in sweeping arcs with lacy edges - sometimes like the borders of an egg fried in butter and sometimes more delicate, like a crepe.  The water is too turbulent to be blue but occasionally a shy wave will venture out to kiss my feet, as crystalline as a layer of clear nail polish.

For every meek wave, there are those assertive ones that may only come up to mid-shin but rush in with such force that unless you stand your ground, you risk water shooting up your legs and soaking you thoroughly.  You have to walk a far way out to actually get half way submerged.  Those of us who know the sneaky way of these waves, like this weekend's bride and my childhood friend, Roberta, can master wave jumping while still keeping our possession of our bathing suits.

I didn't expect to spend any time with Beta during her wedding weekend, so I was thrilled to slip away with her to the beach not once, but twice.  The first time, we went for a walk, like countless walks we have taken on these beaches, usually with some combination of mothers and sister.  The hard sand leaves your feet baby soft afterwards!  The second time, we went out to wave jump like the pros that we are.

Simple pleasures...