The Rip

A line of waves begin their run to shore, lifting, rising up and flaring cobra like as if preparing to strike, gliding forward until the shallows down them and they fall, deflating to a withering crawl up the incline of a beach, beaten into tiny bubbles that burst harmless at my feet. I am safe here beyond the lethal reach of waves and water where, just a short wade away, a rip churns ready to drag an unsuspecting soul out to sea and far from sight, slow thrashing limbs and time to a still and thicken living breath into brine. The image troubles me and sends my thoughts a thousand miles and a lifetime away to when my uncle drowned trying to rescue a child swept out in a rip. He clings to memory, the young brother of my Mum, though I was only eight years old. He was twenty one.

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Deb M

Date: 10/1/2024 3:29:00 AM

Oh Paul what a sad sad tale! Rips are so dangerous and frightening…..your brave selfless uncle saving a childs life but losing his life doing it at only twenty one…..I felt the grip of the rip and the sadness in your words …..your mum must have been devastated! Debx

Paul Willason
Date: 10/4/2024 3:13:00 AM

Thankyou my dear friend for your thoughtful comments. It was a tragedy and had a deep impact on my mother who had virtually raised him as her mother died when he was a young child. Its good to let some air into such memories, gives them perspective and resolution. Indeed appreciate your kind words Deb.