Everything Is Simple Sabrina Winkler

The moonlight creeps through the blinds and I know it’s still too early to wake up. I roll over to check my clock… of course it’s only 4:17. I curl back into my burrito of blankets and listen to the waves a mile away crash violently onto the shore, then get sucked back into the ocean, like a song on repeat. Three hours later, it’s low tide: the best time for waves. Knowing that this isn't another dreaded school morning, I hop right out of bed and reach for the damp suit left on the carpet from the previous day.

A loud creaking noise comes from the pressure of each careful step to the bottom of the staircase as I tiptoe, trying not to wake the others. I grab the last banana, write the typical “gone to beach, be back soon” napkin message in my morning chicken scratch, and start my barefoot journey to the beach with surfboard in hand. When I arrive at the beach access, I feel the salt in the air and smell the crisp breeze lingering from last night’s summer sprinkle. Finally, I feel a sense of home when my feet take the last step off the descending, weathered, wooden steps onto the still damp sand.

I secure the Velcro strap and sink into the sand with each footprint I leave behind. I reach the shoreline and wait for a calm to...