Concussions be damned. Time to surf again.

From the black comes an electric thunderclap sizzling the immediate water around my legs dangling off my board drifting in the Atlantic waiting for a new tide to ride me in as I daydream staring into the western setting sun over land a silhouette I am against the moon setting huge against the eastern horizon. Tiny bait fish nibble at my toes. In a borrowed wetsuit, ewwww, waiting for a spring tide to remind me of what the rush was once to lift and carry me on a beaming balance beam from a soft point east curling upon itself with cascading momentum into my western wipeout.