The importance of swimming in a storm in Koh Kood

And boy did it fall

A majestic, granite sky brews out at sea.  We’re awestruck from the bay.  Dense. Towering. Moody. Cumulonimbus taking charge. Rolling, cotton cumulus becoming alloy with their giant masters. Mackerel altocumulus visible through the interstices of fragmented, smudged cirrus and cirrostratus. All the clouds here; swirling into one enveloping and living Turner masterpiece. Now.

As if dusted with snow, the far, sliding, slate sea and the horizon are lost in each other’s watery haze as the storm nears. Waves pick up and rush with more vigour to the now darkening bay. The stirred sand has coloured the shallow water to a swirling, smoky oyster, where the frothy waves scramble with their last breaths to land. The breaking drum roll of approaching thunder, the ceaseless, rumbling waves and the growing barrage of wind through and around it all, sounds indistinguishable from each other as one symphonic expression of nature at its boisterous best.

The lush, protective, deep-green shoulders of the bay wrestle with the wind and rain like some great timeless love-hate saga. Palm trees and dangling lanterns excite themselves on the shore in anticipation of the visiting king. All land animals and insects hide. Air lifts. He’s here.

We throw off our clothes and run towards the sea. Inexorable rain to the soul. Cleansing. Underfoot the sodden, eggshell sand of a billion years and a trillion dramas is unfazed by the magnificence unfolding. As we bless ourselves for the first time, headlong into the warmth of the sea, we’re struck with all there is, all there was, and all there ever will be. The most glorious of mysteries. Immensity. Eternity.

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