Words for Wednesday: Memories of the Sea

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or part of a story, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

Last week's words were:

crunch

foam

blister

riptide

fencing

blast

Memories of the Sea

In the lounge room above the wide couch was Holly's favourite painting, a beach scene. It was a wild beach, obviously windy, with pampas grass bending over on the dunes and gulls wheeling in the sky. A rolling wave crashed on some unseen rock, sending spray high into the air. Swirling foam lapped the sand.

Holly could imagine standing on that beach - the blast of salt air on cheeks, the crunch of broken shells in sand underfoot.  She imagined it so much, she had real memories of being there. Sometimes she walked with a dog, who barked at the spray and the gulls and ran in and out of the water. Sometimes she carried a stick for him. She called him back when he went in to swim, as the riptide was dangerous. Usually though, she was alone. She wore rolled up jeans and an old jumper, and her hair was long and untied. She passed through the crooked, broken palings of long-rotted fencing that marked the start of the public beach, down the small dunes past the grass and onto the rough sand. She walked, or she stood watching the sea and the gulls, arms wrapped around herself tightly. 

It was always late afternoon on that beach. It was always cool, and the sky clouded pink with the beginnings of a beautiful sunset. But Holly never saw the sunset. There was nowhere to go if it got dark while she was there, after all; that part didn't really exist. She didn't know if she was visiting (and if so, did she have a car?) or if she lived nearby and had walked. If she had walked, she had to get back home before evening. (Why?) Occasionally, she gave herself physical memories too: the itch of the pampas grass on her ankles, the sting of hair whipping her face, the beginnings of a blister in a sneakered foot.

Back in the lounge room the cries of the gulls began to fade and Holly pulled her hair into a pony tail. Her ankle was itchy and she scratched it with the toenail of her other foot.