Dawn Of The Day

• Zoe Cowled, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2022

Sunlight kisses the water, reflecting a path leading to the skies. The spray off each curving left is caught by the golden light, creating a sparkling cloud over every surfer. I step into my salt crusted wettie, and slide my DHD out of its board bag, the light smell of a faraway tropical surf break carried by my coconut surf wax.
Sand crunches beneath my toes, the gentle thunder of the waves growing stronger as I near the shore. I hesitate slightly as my toes test the frigid water. A thousand pins prick my skin until I can't feel my feet, and so I jump.
Paddling out, the salt water stinging my eyes, stuck in my ears, pouring out my nose. I duck dive again and again: time it wrong and the waves are relentless.
A green monster looms over me, foaming at the mouth, and I bail. Bubbles everywhere, the sea pulls me down, further and further, under and over, until the sun is a pale speck far out of reach.
But I make it up again and finish the paddle out, the release of pressure to my head relieving, my ears unblocking one by one.
The sun is brighter now, and when I turn to look for the waves, I am met with a fierce ball of fire glaring to the backs of my eyes.
Though my entire body is numb, the water is clear as glass, thin strands of kelp waving up at me from far below. Tiny black fish dart between them, so fast you blink, and they are gone.
My hair is a bird’s nest. My skin salty and wet. Wrinkled fingers and numbed toes, it is all worth it to be awake for the Dawn of the Day.