Poetry of the Sea

There was noting we – my then boyfriend (now husband) and I – loved more than to get home from work on a Friday evening, pack our beach bags and head off to the jetty where we boarded a speed boat which took us across the sea to the small island of Tarkwa Bay where we would spend a wonderful and relaxing weekend at a friends beach house which had been kindly lent to us.

We’d be laden down with cooler bags full of fresh vegetables, French baguettes, limes, drinks and all sorts of yummy edibles. On arrival, about an hour later, we’d arrange with the island locals to bring us their catch of the day from which we had a choice of fish from snappers to red mullet to – my favourite – fresh prawns straight out of sea with their gills still puffing up as they drew their last breaths.

These would be salted and spiced up and thrown onto the BBQ for a simple meal of fish, bread, wine and fresh vegetables with just a squeeze of lime to finish it all off. It was a meal which left us well sated and pleasantly dozy.

We’d sit for hours on the veranda chatting and gazing out at the sea watching the waves with their florescent caps of foam crashing gently onto shore.

I close my eyes and
Listen to the lapping waves
Tell me their secrets

Sometimes we would walk down to the beach, often at midnight, just to hold hands and walk along the shore letting the warm sea water bathe our feet and squishing the warm white sand between our toes. Sometimes our feet would be bitten by the hundreds of tiny crabs which hid underneath the sand and we’d beat a hast retreat back up to the house.

Pure Heaven.