Sound of the Sea

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

As her left foot pushes down for the second time, the bike begins careening forward in full speed. She does not even flinch as she speeds straight through the questionable fumes of dust left behind by a passing truck—she does not want to spend an extra minute on commuting. The bright glare from the metal bars lining the sidewalk to her right is slightly distracting her from focusing on the road. On the aisle to her left, a series of blaring honks go off after a white automobile suddenly swerves violently in an attempt to cut the line of vehicles.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

The steep bridge is now ahead of her. Slowly yet surely, a soreness begins to weigh her legs down as each push proves more difficult than the last. An alarming honk from a woman whizzing by on a maroon scooter urges her to pick up her pace, but she could not seem to go faster than a frustrating crawl. Every pant is another reminder that she is only mortal, that her stamina is only finite.

R-r-right foot. L-left foot. Right foot.

Finally, the climb ends. She stops pedaling, and now, there is only wind. Wind gushing towards her. Wind that pricks the upper lobes of her ears a little but presses itself soft and sweet onto her cheeks. Wind that straightens her straw-like hair and brushes the cold, bare ankles left uncovered by her jeans. Occasionally, the wind teases her by flicking a speck of sand or two in her eyes, forcing her eyelids to close. But that only makes her long wistfully about being on a sunlit beach along the sea.

She opens her eyes now wide, and gazes at the blue dome of the sky infinitely expanding above. The hills near the horizon, the delicate petals on the nearby wildflowers, the waxy leaves on the verdant thickets on both sides of the highway, are all rushing to meet her. As if she is falling, falling, she gives her tired self completely to the wind, and allows it to be blanketed. Her body is lit up by flickers of warm light passing through the tall trees. Her ear drums are flooded with the ringing, ringing of the conch and the distant crashing of waves because to her, the sound of wind is like the sound of the sea. Wind fills up the space in her mind until all other remaining thoughts are crowded out—until her entire being arches itself towards the point she is descending towards below.

Gradually, the wind diminishes into no more than a barely perceptible gust. The daydream she has disintegrates when her vision refocuses on the flashing red and green lights before her. The imaginary tides of her sea fall. The road stabilizes. Her left foot pushes down on the pedal again.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.