The Keyhole | Big Sur, CA
October 14th, 2024
The clutter of manmade tinkerings fades from my ears as I step out of the cypress shade into a clearing of windswept sand. I catch a whiff of kelp and taste the sunburnt earth. Waves unfurl their turquoise wings like Venus fly traps before the bite, their violent crash a deceitful lullaby, a lion’s purr. They foam at the mouth between two cliffs as they relentlessly tumble toward my toes in a stretch of frothy spiderweb fingers. Their swell gives way to retreat, until their next rhythmic breath. I close my eyes and indulge their flirtation, inhale a deep and briny wind. The ocean’s sigh is glacial, carrying with it stray grains of purple sand that prick the skin of my bare legs, which wander closer, closer, closer to the keyhole. Illuminated by the sun that sets behind the arch, the window drips with molten gold and glitters with promise that, if I were but to step inside, I would unlock the secrets of the sea. The tunnel’s turmoil stills, beckoning me with siren’s song; but I grin at her poker face and stay safely aloft. Drums bellow from the deep—a wink of warning—before a serpentine torrent ruthlessly licks clean all creatures caught within the keyhole’s glistening walls. All is swallowed, and all is still once more. She’ll try again, I wager; and so I pad away through soft, blue-pocketed sand to enjoy my Lady Ocean at a cordial distance.
