Wetsuits hanging up in St Ives Hostel, poem about wetsuits and watersports on Sea, Earth, Sky

That Wetsuit Smell

The smell of the wetsuit brings it back –

the cold early mornings,

the sunsets watched from the water

shivering in a carpark as it grew dark

and bundling wet things into plastic bags.

The smell of wetsuit lingers

on my skin longer after it’s peeled away

and all that’s left are aching muscles.

It brings back the memory

of water swirls around my feet

sails raised up into the wind

as we push our boards into the sea.

Advertisements
short story, first line,

Coffee, A Wetsuit – and not much else // Short Story

I had been driving all night. My only thought was of coffee. I needed it and I needed it fast, or I was going to fall asleep at the wheel. I couldn’t even take in the little Cornish cove that I had pulled up in front of as I was drawn towards the only source of caffeine I can see. The small cafe is only just putting out the signs, but as I stumble towards it, I don’t care. I can’t even process the fact that I had arrived in Cornwall at long last.

Continue reading