Gulliver Stylee

Northeast winds swept the Florida shore last Sunday morning, pushing choppy four-foot waves towards the beach at a hard angle. I arrived with the rising sun, looking forward to a couple of hours riding lines, carving shapes, and enjoying the water before the rest of my day got started.

Unfortunately, almost as soon as I arrived, something too small to be wiped away got lodged in the corner of my eye. A grain of sand, a drop of sunscreen, I really don't know what it was. I tried to wash it away while I navigated the harsh paddle out past the breakers, but no matter what I did, I couldn't shake it loose. The sun low over the water, creating a harsh glare that only made things worse.

Eventually I just pointed my board in the right direction, and paddled with my eyes closed towards the sea.

                And while I was working under this self-imposed darkness,
                I found myself in the middle of a daydream.

I opened my eyes after what seemed ages of paddling to find myself on the shores of a small distant isle, inhabited by people who stood no taller than my toes.

They offered me fresh fruits and wine, and regaled me with song. Then they implored me, the red-eyed keeper of the three-finned sword of Kechele, to aid them in their struggle against the evil lord Offthebouy and his band of suicide shoulder hoppers.

It occurred to me that these strange people did not see me as some misplaced traveler from a strange land; but more as a hero, a giant, a champion... perhaps even as a god. I looked out over the churning Atlantic waters while I pondered this, watching the surf rise and fall in slow sideways curls topped with foam.

I turned back to them and said,

        "Step off, Lilliputs - These waves are mine!"