Drop Of Water
By Mike von Wahlde
I have salt water in my veins, its cold and clear, and chills me when the sun sets and rises over the waters near my home. It has been there for a long, long time, streaming hard and fast long before being swept up in the momentum of a perfect curl. It was borne out of stone, and coursed from coastline to coastline, yearning for an outlet. It has found the flow in the streets, gliding, grinding and popping its way closer the carve. Transitions have pushed it towards the sun, and it has trickled bruised and battered, into new days. It has frozen and slid down mountainsides, finding the chute and the sweetspot, and the brisk winds of winter. I needed straps to keep it in. At long last it has found itself, in the cold winter waters of the Atlantic with my first winter swells, pulsing as it strokes into wave after wave. The salt water carries strength to my strokes, and sets me prime for the peak. It has primed me for the thrust, and lifts itself to join in the power. All into one drop.