Bogey Hole

Walking along the pavement, I fumbled my thongs off before the sand scratching the soles became unendurable. Looking up from my muddled pile of bits, I took to the stairs and descended into Bronte’s bogey hole.

Castled in mismatched rocks, the ocean's crashing rhythm softens into a sanctuary.

From the time my feet tread the sunken sand, to the point I reascend the cement stairs; I'm swallowed, weightless. As if returned to the womb.

Taking exactly what I needed from my daily baptism, I resurrect to the shore.

The Bogey Hole; nursing generations into and out of the ocean.