Set Wave Seven

Sweet, sensational force

Headwind stinging skin

Swell by swell a set on high

Seven counts and she builds the horizon

Wait! I stop paddling and erect myself

Vision peaks over number six

It’s all wrong but she is massive

A lion among wolves, I hear her

Fleeting and curious she takes new aim

I gaze north and scan south, plenty of room

The face is mine but I must hurry

She is a steam engine, her force dangerously inviting

Thirty yards north she, number seven, comes with tide wind

As I begin to lay upon my vessel, I feel the shift

Onshore winds subside, abrupt

The whole ocean is churning with this new change

Offshore winds to welcome my wonderful giant

Number six flies past leaving white stallions

Sea Mist coats my bare flesh and I’m off

Dig, dig, get it deep and pull, I am lion

I will meet my friendly foe on her wayward course

Pump, pull, stop!

I angle forward and feel myself become weightless

I have made it, and now we dance

I am a feather and I want the wind

I deserve this seven

I pull myself up in the free fall

12 foot face of ocean, clear, emotional

I lean in and she folds over me

But right, ducked low I touch her

I feel her smooth, terrible strength

And for seconds, in her barrel

The lion, The feather, The stallions and the Great Beauty that is number is mine and I am hers.

Randy Sturridge