The waves crashed sardonically on the wet sand, leaving behind a trail of silt, shells and anonymous litter. A swarm of clouds breezed past innocently overhead, in all shapes and sizes. Dragons, butterflies and an endless abundance of other distorted familiarities. In the near distance people laughed, a log fire crackled, and a new day climbed up over high sand dunes. The night had been wild. Bright beer halls, dark nightclubs, spontaneous parties, and now this, an impromptu trip to the beach.

A group of us who had remained at the death of the party, still eager for excitement, filled to the brim with dreams of teenage adventure, decided that it would be a great idea to take the remaining alcohol to the nearby beach. The first traces of light were chasing away the darkness, and the smell of another summer morning filled the air. The journey to the beach itself was a blur, one can’t be expected to remember all the details, but when we arrived we found that we weren’t the only group of people who had the same idea.

Some foreign students populated the beach, shouting, laughing and horsing beside a bright log fire. Four Greeks, two Italians and an asian student. All male. As we approached they ran to greet us, waving their arms like men on fire. Various friendly conversations were exchanged around the fire, as well as the usual drunken 'sing-alongs' and relentless hand-shaking. After a while the group left. It was 5am, and they were tired, off home to their resting places to reflect on the night’s events. They kindly left us the wood they had gathered to keep the fire going, and then slowly disappeared over the sweeping sand dunes. Immediately, our group dispersed into a collection of smaller groups. The girl from Switzerland, Monique, the diabetic, found a comfortable place in the knee-length reeds with Ragnor, the Norwegian, the graduate. Various other friends decided to venture into the water; while some more found suitable spots in the sand to rest. That is how I came to be lying beside the girl.

“That one looks like a pair of y-fronts. Look. Up there. See it?” the girl laughed and twisted her sandy-coloured hair around her nicotine stained fingers.

I nodded and chuckled along as I thought about the moment. Here we were, a bunch of relative strangers, all celebrating the freedom of being young, being careless, and being free. We were all drifting through a transitional period in our respective lives. Some had studied in this country for several months and were returning to their homelands in the coming days, others, like me, were about to leave this city and go home for the summer. After playing the debutantes in the ‘real world’ for almost a year, it was time to return to those homes from which we arrived. The return to parental rule and the mundane labours of the full-time supermarket job. Although our own individual departures from this state of freedom were so painfully imminent, nobody spoke or thought about it, that wasn‘t what tonight was about. The girl and I laughed and joked like old friends; sharing a bottle of wine and making ‘cloud shapes’. It was what youth was all about - cutting loose and having fun. We spoke of films, of adventures, and of a million imaginary scenarios and dreams. Once in a while in the background someone would shout, or laugh aloud. It didn’t matter, we were all at perfect peace.



Still intoxicated from the poison of the alcohol, and distracted by my philosophising, I wasn’t sure if I had fallen asleep, or how long it had been since the girl had said anything. We had sort of shuffled together on the sand, allowing body heat to supplement the efforts of the rising sun in keeping us warm. It was then that she spoke again.

“The tide is coming in, let’s go and watch,” before I could even get my head straight, I was sitting bolt upright, staring at the choppy sea through the thick, dark smoke of the fire. “Do you ever close your eyes and listen to the sea? Imagining what it would be like to be on a rock at the edge of the ocean?”

I’d never have guessed the girl was such a dreamer. In previous encounters she had seemed a little dismissive, a bit too serious; maybe even unconvincing. Tonight, however, she was witty, deep; maybe even attractive. “I’ve never tried,” I admitted. “I’ll give it a shot. Why not?.”

I closed my eyes and tried to block out the sounds of our nearby friends. As I focused on the waves crashing on the shore in my head I pictured thousands of images. Large, grey clusters of rocks being showered by the salty spray of white, fresh seawater. The sound of the log fire snapping sounded like the faraway cracking of a whip, and the loud rumble of the tide on the edge of the shore drummed like a harras of horses. Maybe the cavalry of a distant army, rushing to conquer a land unknown; or perhaps a herd of wild stallion, wandering free, like the turn of the wind. I could picture them perfectly, all pure and white, chasing away what was left of the night’s darkness; and wiping the slate clean for another day. Running ankle-deep, perpendicular to the path of the advancing tide, their wet hooves glistened as they caught stray sun-rays at the peak of their movement. The crystal glint of light reflected by the water shone in perfect contrast to the dull sky-blues and sea-blues in the background. I lay back again on the cold, damp sand and let the image become the start of a pleasant dream.



By the time I woke up, the new day had completely started. The girl was gone. Our group had re-congregated and were preparing to embark on the journey back to our student accommodation. Nobody said a great deal on the way home - we were all exhausted from the festivities of the previous night. When we arrived back at the campus, we all said our goodbyes and headed towards our respective beds. Either because of fate, or simply the rush of our impending departures, I never really bumped into many of the group again. We were bound in time and memory by shared experience; the spirit of youth. But that’s what happens when you are young. You have fun, you move on, you forget. All that’s left in the end is the memory, the image - the ash of the log fire. It’s easy to take the luxury of freedom for granted. But when you get to the 'real world', where time is the enemy, sometimes it seems that the only freedoms you have left are the cloud shapes in the sky.