MAN ON THE SAND

A short story by L V Matthews

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The old woman is walking the same path she has always walked, high above the sea, where the wind larrups the cliff into bridal white.

The path is grassy, with occasional rocks and stones and scrub, and in parts she has to tread carefully so as not to turn an ankle, but the view is worth itthe great curving ocean and the sun behind it.

She stops and looks down at the small cove below where there are two young people swimming. It’s where the young people always go, and it’s a scramble down from the clifftop, but there are makeshift steps in the rock and a wooden rail in parts.

If you’re agile enough, it's fine. She used to do it all the time. And she likes it that people enjoy the cove.

Today it’s two girls together in the water, splashing and laughing. Perhaps, the woman thinks, they have finished their school exams, or perhaps they are on holiday from university. She wonders if they might be sisters because their smiles match.

She sits on a rock to watch them, recalls how once she used to fish in that little piece of sea. She went out with her sister in their tiny boat, and sat with a line in the blue, but that was a long time ago. Ten winters have passed since she used that same boat for firewood.

When the girls grow tired of the sea, they sprawl on sandy towels and talk.

One girl smokes a cigarette, and they play cards for pennies.

And when eventually the sun starts to sink and the ocean begins to turn dark, they roll up their things, stuff them into backpacks and bags, and climb back up the cliff.