red frog.

Went to the beach the other day and for hours after felt the undertow pulling at me, the force of the waves crashing against my back.

Residual motion.

I´m sure some part of me is still out there, buoyed to those waves. I find sand on my skin, constantly. Expelling that ocean from pores.

The beach I most love here is named Red Frog. It´s the one that tanned me the most, bit me the most, is the most furious, beautiful. You get there by boat. Across the bay in amongst those other islands and past that expanse that spreads endlessly to the Caribbean Sea. Then down the straight into the marsh land on the gentle rolling waters and sounds of birds, flapping, all the way to the other tip of that isla named Bastimentos.

The boat docks and cracks against those wooden beams.

There are countless pathways to that beach. Some are raised pathways over mirky swamps that open onto gravel roads and twist around the low hills. Others are grassy, lush jungle walks through that reedy low hanging canopy with the sloths and flying things and other creatures unseen. Some ways are unmarked and secretive. Secret to you, to me. All of them open up to the gleam. The perfect brightness of sun hitting white sands and one hundred immaculate breaks rolling at your toes. That living thing crashing the color of emerald and spraying salt upwards, frothing at the feet of the jungle and the belly button of the sun.

Moving, always, pulling.

This beach is framed by points. Great bluffs extending like tropical towers at either end. Pathways twist up and into forest and slide with walkways of mud made from the rain. Wet earth squishes between toes and the salt water calls.

The sun burns quickly on this beach, but for all the heat there is also shade. Shelter, under those trees with the leaves the children make into cups. Cool, under those trees with the edges to hang clothes away from the ants and the sand that itches clean bodies. Safety from the sear of sunburn.

On the beach, local children run wild up the trunks of trees on tiptoe and across rogue branches to watch the tourists doze on brightly colored sarongs, with coolers of rum and Platanita Loca. They all carry purses of banana leaves housing tiny communities of those rare red frogs. They pose for photos in exchange for things like cookies and sometimes just purified ice that they melt in the big leaves of those low hanging trees and drink like the water they can´t.

But they mostly like Oreos and cheese flavored Pringles, and that´s my favourite part. Those children on the beach hand in hand with the tiny Red Frogs and the perfect waves rolling...