Chrissy Dances in the Sun
And the waves lap gently at the sand, pushing it up and pulling it back, undecided on whether they should stay or go but nevertheless forced into constant motion by the irresistible pull of the moon.
Chrissy sits and waits on the shoreline for the dashing young man who must surely happen by soon. But the waves lap, and the sand stirs, and Chrissy’s shadow lengthens across the hard packed rippled surface and still he does not appear.
Her crown sits askew on her golden head and her eyes gaze vacantly down at her feet. She wriggles her toes into the sand and watches as the saturated ground gives up its water in tiny pools around her feet.
The sun dips lower in the sky, resting its head sadly on the horizon, and sends glowing amber beams of sympathy to soothe the young girl’s pain. She smiles back sadly, and looks once more along the empty beach.
She folds her arms over her knees and rests her chin on them. She sings softly to herself. It may be “Some day my Prince will come,” but we can’t quite hear. A light breeze creeps cautiously from the ocean surface and sidles up the beach. It lifts a few strands of soft, fine, hair and strokes them gently. “There, there. Everything will work out fine.”
She rises and stands before the ocean with her arms held out. The breeze grows a little more excited, flicking at her white linen dress, and whispering in her ear. She spins slowly on the spot, a careful pirouette, pointing with her right foot and inscribing a perfect circle for her Prince to cross. She raises her arms in a graceful arch above her head and pivots forwards, raising one leg in an elegant Arabesque.
The lapping waves give a gurgling chuckle at the dancing girl while their parents roar approval from further afield. The wind cheers and whistles as it flows alongside her, constantly caressing, touching, guiding and leading. She dances up the beach, her shadow flickering and waving and the sun turns the water to fire as it clings to the last scrap of the sea. As she dances across the demarcation line between the ocean’s domain and the land’s, the dry sand leaps excitedly in the air around her feet, kicked into glittering tornados by the energy of her passing. From over the border, the brine-soaked ocean sand looks on with envy.
And then he is there, clad in white, tall, lean, his face indistinct with the sun at his back. She dances around him, laughing and crying, desperate for a glimpse of his long awaited face. She spins towards him and the last ray of the dying sun burns fiercely in her heart before vanishing, leaving her alone and silent on the empty beach once more. Her arms fall to her sides and her gaze turns down to the eternal sand. She sinks to her knees with her arms outstretched. The beach takes her hands and the ocean strokes her arms.
And the waves lap gently at the sand and the wind sighs its pity. Chrissy sits and Chrissy waits for another glimpse on another day, while the weeping sun rolls its moment of magical twilight around the world.
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