Hello Steemians. I know this is much but I just love sharing things with you guys. This is a piece of writing I did thinking about home, not necessarily mine but still home. Comment down below: what is home to you?
The cliff I stood on was as old as Earth itself. Fresh grass swayed and danced with the wind, and the angry sea gnawed at the cliff’s ankles. The churning sea below sprayed me with a blizzard of cold, white foam, and left me with a stinging taste of salt each time. A sharp, high pitched cry of a seagull swept through the cliff, clearly audible even with the resonating sound of deafening waves ringing in my ears. That startled me. The cliff’s hollowness emphasized the call of the gull and caused its discordant cry to echo. At first, its cry sounded loud and threatening and made the muscles in my ears prickle. It bounced back, this time sounding bland; it sounded like a hoarse whisper. The continuous bouncing of the noise gradually washed it away, until it finally became nothing. A single handsome seagull swam through the sky, spreading its majestic wings, hugging the air as he drifted into the morning clouds. My grandfather used to take me here, to this very area, all the time. “The only heaven you’ll find on Earth is where seagulls fly under your feet,” was what he once said to me. I decided to clamber down to the beach.
The light rays increasingly warmed as the hours on my watch ticked by. As the heat from the glistening sun penetrated my skin, I felt a sudden wave of excitement course throughout every inch of my body. I wanted to run along where the land and the ocean meets. I wanted to sprint as fast as my legs could carry me, and dive head first into the inviting, emerald sea. Frantically, I wanted to build beautiful towering structures of sand. I wanted it to stretch around for miles and miles around here. But today, was a different day. A special day. In an effort to calm myself, I inhaled an enormous amount of oxygen. My nose tingled as I breathed in; it felt so refreshing to take in the flavor of the sea, and fill my lungs with pure, untouched air. I told myself I was going to take a stroll along the beach; who doesn’t like to take amble along the beach? A gentle breeze brushed softly against my face, spreading grains of sand throughout my hair. Squeezing my toes, I felt the softness of the sand, still damp from the withdrawal of the waves. Walking on the sand was like walking on those luxurious carpets only found in millionaire homes. The way the sand flowed onto my feet and in between my toes gave me a warm, glowing sensation in my chest. I could hear my heart pound like a bass drum in a marching band.
I inched myself closer to the cyan-blue paradise stretched out in front of me. She greeted me by gently embracing my foot with her touch. The water flowed between my toes, fighting to get through, then retreated. The soothing sea slowly surrounded my toes again, then retreated. Surrounded them again, then retreated. Half-asleep, dreamy, and sluggish, the ocean waves beckoned me, and I realized she was singing me an enchanting lullaby. My toes danced to the calming rhythm of the waves. The waves perpetually crawled up to my toes and sand and the boulders coated in barnacles. My nostrils were spoilt with the rich, flavorful, earthy cologne and the salty perfume of the waves. I turned my head back and watched the horizon, lost in the opera of the sea. The skyline that separated the ocean and the sky looked like it was stitched together, in a gratifying and flawless manner. Out in the distance, a couple yachts softly bobbed, and silver dolphins leaped into the sky and looked like professional synchronized swimmers doing their daily exercises. Cylinders of orange from the sun lightened and streaked across my face, making my eyes twinkle. It felt magical to be here, I felt so far away from the stresses of life. I promised myself I was going to return one day. Giving one last look, I turned back and allowed my footprints in the sand to follow me home.
My grandfather’s cottage sat by the entrance to the woods. It was as if the cottage was trying to hide; it crouched low, looking so ancient and needy, and yet it still looked full of life. Trees huddled around the house, looking like angels overlooking the grassy field the cottage was sitting on. From this distance, I barely made out the grey, uneven walls. Rings of warm smoke were spontaneously thrown out of the stubby chimney, and the tantalizing aroma of cooked fish wafted towards my nostrils. I was surprised at how quiet it was. One would expect to hear a chorus of insects and birds in a place like this. The only thing that disturbed the silence of the forest was the sound of my boots crunching parched grass. A smooth, white, circular rock floated in the sky, illuminating the terrain that lay beneath it. Looking up, I almost felt the smoothness of the moon on my fingertips. It felt good to be back. It felt good to be home.
