DANCING IN THE DARK

The sun was fading as I wandered through the national park, the last light slipping through the trees. Everything was turning to shadow, the ocean blending into the horizon.

Behind me, a father and his two kids walked along the path, their voices breaking the quiet. "Mom went to Tea Tree or Nationals?" one asked.

That’s when I saw her—a lone figure gliding effortlessly across a wave at Tea Tree.

"Oh look, there’s Mom!" they called out, leaning over the railing, voices carrying over the water. She looked up, spotted them, and laughed, "Wait for me, last wave!"

And what a last wave it was. Arms raised, effortless grace—she danced across the face of the wave, the picture of style and flow. The three of them stopped, watching in awe.

"Mom’s awesome," the youngest whispered.