Kamakhya Bhairavi (_kala_) wrote in forgotten_past, @ 2011-08-30 22:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | crow, kali |
Who: Kali [_kala_] & Crow [burntblackcrow]
When: Summer 1982
Where: Malibu, California,
Warnings: TBA
Golden pink light lit the Santa Monica Mountains in a violet haze as the sun began to dip lower in the sky above the Pacific. Tides came and went; waters gleamed, swelling and crashing, a ceaseless cycle of movement as the sky above lightened the way it does just before sunset, from light to dark and back again until at last darkness would fall, but not until the sky was lit on fire by the setting sun. Malibu at sunset was made for a postcard.
Kali shifted her weight, one arm holding a sleek little surf board under her arm. She was alone on the beach, all except the birds, and they were not like to care about the near lack of clothing on the woman below, a man's light green undershirt slicking her dark skin and soft curves. Above, on the bluffs overlooking the beach and its rocky outcroppings and formations, gulls gathered as if to watch the scene mother earth provided them every evening, or to watch Maa herself ride the waves like she rode the waves of time. She broke into a run, splashing through the crashing waves, and was on her stomach, pushing herself up as she went over each swell, arms cutting through the water as she paddled, turned, and began to rise as the water rose beneath her. She rode each wave like a dance, cutting the wave and riding each to shore. And in those moments she fell, she dove willingly, making a common mishap anything but.
On the beach where she had been standing, a battered carafe was burrowed into the sand, in which spiced black tea waited for her return. The evening wind began to kick up the corners of a dusty blue sheet serving as a beach mat. Despite the mild marine climate, this evening was uncharacteristically warm.
She glided to shore, hopped off the board and tossed herself onto the blue sheet, enjoying the last hour and a half of sunlight. She could almost hear the whispered, undulating mantras coming from deep within the mountains, the center of which was the newly built temple in nearby Calabasas. Overhead, the gulls started to sing a different song, one that said she would not be alone much longer, but while Kali Ma could hear songs and mantras miles away, she could not understand the language of seagulls, and so remained in her reverie of sunset and ocean breezes and the simple pleasures of moving into yoga poses on a beach all her own.