Opus

Wayland Middle School's Literary Magazine

Ocean’s Song by Emily Chau

Written By: Rachel Barker - Jun• 10•16

My arrival to the ever-sunny

Hanauma Bay was greeted

with wide expanses of cream colored sand,

embracing gleaming,

crystal clear,

glasslike,

aquamarine water.

No, not water-

they were liquid diamonds,

converging,

constantly swaying to the ocean’s song,

waves beating down onto the shore

in unexplainable rhythms.

My first tentative steps

were mesmerizingly cool,

comforting in comparison

to the sun’s sweltering heat,

accompanied by a refreshingly

moist scent

of salty, salty water,

enveloping,

surrounding me.

I pulled the bulky snorkel mask

over my face and gracefully

slip in.

Though above the Hawaiian waters

was an enchanting sight,

below was a new world.

Scratchy sand whirled

around my feet,

encasing my tingling toes

in a musicless ballet,

fish darting away

in a constantly shifting rainbow.

Coral shimmered in sunlight,

expelling a soft glow

of pinks,

oranges,

yellows.

I found myself whirling and twirling,

prancing and dancing

to the ocean’s beat,

the ocean’s song

all while silently trailing

after the mass of shimmering

tails and fins.

After I tore myself away

from the underwater ballet,

I trudged from the shore back to my shade

under a palm tree.

I entwined myself

within a towel,

salt still clinging

to my lips,

emitting a stinging sensation.

My hair seemed to have wings

as it fluttered in the wind.

I lay down in the glow of the setting sun,

soaking in the last rays

and the entrancing view:

Daylight

dipping its head to rest

in its seabed below,

sending its last hues into a serene Hanauma Bay.

I could feel the world

keep spinning,

lurching,

going,

but I only saw this sun, this radiance, laying its head to rest.

 

 

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