Hero photograph
Bridge Jump
 
Photo by Hilary Elliot

Senior Writing

Anon —

Audience: Adults; Purpose: To describe Kopua in the summer compared to the winter

Summer

Fingers clutch to the outside of the metal railing; as the warm sun kisses my back; I peer over the deep green of the ocean; inviting. The distant sound of children laughing ricochets off the water's surface as I prepare to jump; The air is sweet, clouds blue. I cast a side glance at Kate, she gives me an encouraging nod.

The water better be warm.

One By One;

...I release my fingers. Blue and white rushes past me in a blur; my long hair is whipped away from my face, as if the sky is pulling on it from above. One by one the tips of my blue toe nail polish toes enter the water…

Time Stands still;

...One quick breath fills my lungs as I swiftly enter the deep blue water. Splash. Cold water tickles my skin as I am swallowed by the embrace of the ocean - Eyes creep open. Slowly. Carefully. Through the clouded water and beams of streaming yellow is Kate: long golden ringlets dancing around her freckled face like seaweed caught in a gentle current; bubbles cascading around her body like hundreds of baby jellyfish rising to the surface. Gasping for breath we erupt to the surface.

Catching my breath…

I capture the beauty of this place;

Blue inlet. ...

We paddle back to shore; cold water envelops me like a blanket, a waterfall of sun pouring down from the sky soaks through my skin to warm me..


Winter

Windy. Stormy. Cold.

My thighs burn with pain as I run over the bridge; desperate to get home; shoes slapping hard on the concrete.

One by one;

..my fingers become numb with cold. Goosebumps emerge on my icy blue skin. The wind turns my hair to a whip constantly hitting my face. Sharp bullets of water violently strike my face. Knocking me back and forth. Back and forth. Menacing, ominous, forbidding grey sky’s hover above me blocking out any beams of yellow that once brightened the lives of those below it. Beneath the bridge the once little ripples of warm water turn to hungry waves of white wash. Broken twigs and tattered leaves, rudley taken from their homes by the howling wind, now helplessly caught in the current are consumed in the depth of the sea. A lone bedraggled salmon pops in and out, in and out of sight.

Angry.

Deafening.

Screeching.

Gulls hovering above the vicious sea, blowing rapidly side to side, side to side by the wind, awaiting the opportunity to scavenge victims of the storm. From across the bridge the sound of a child whaling fills my ears. No one to comfort them… No one to comfort me.

The beach is lonely in winter.

Lonely is the beach in winter.

In winter the beach is loney.

Words spin through my mind.

Shivering

I don’t know what to think.