That summer thunderstorm on the beach ...
The woman closed behind her the chalet door so it could not be beaten by the wind.
Slender, high, she slowly moved toward the sea, with her face raised to the sky, her arms slightly stretched along and her body and her palms open upwards, graciously accepting the raindrops of that suddenly summer-storm at the beginning of the evening. When a lightning crossed the dark sky, obscured by clouds, illuminating for a moment her face, you could have seen in her green eyes a shiver of pleasure: that day was quite hot.
In a short time the thunderstorm rose intensity, until it became almost a storm. Tall waves, driven by the wind blowing from the sea, crashed on the shore. On the right, the cliff was barely visible; for the rest, one could see only an army of waves, dark, tall, massive, jagged with foams that roamed the sky. And the woman, a few feet from the shore, seemed fascinated but not afraid of all this.
And the two waves that surpassed all the others they saw her when they ran to die breaking on the beach ..
But only the second wave, plumbeated like heaven, was undeniably threatening, compact, cruel. The first wave, however, saw that imprudent figure a few feet from the shore, and in a moment she felt that such a beautiful thing could not be destroyed, and suddenly she decided to protect her from the followed wave.
Then she hit the woman firmly up the beach, but when she came back to the sea, she did it gently and, only taking her body away and avoiding dragging it, she had for a few moments to see in those green eyes an expression of pleasant amazement, with no shadow of fear. And the wave was so enchanted by that expression that she was almost about to change her mind, dragging her to look at her again, and again, carrying her up to her end point on the shore.
But she did not.
Then her last race to the sea continued fast, and at the last moment of her life she struck down, the heavy plumbean wave that followed her, causing her to fall heavily on herself, cutting that forever.
Returning to the chalet, the woman stopped at the door, and for a moment she turned back to look. She saw that the storm had ceased, and that beach she so loved would take on the usual appearance of a full summer day, but at the same time suddenly she realized that she was no longer the same as when she was out from the chalet: something indistinct but tenacious would have remained forever in her heart. No one remains the same after a storm.
p, s. Dedicated to my wife, and to all women with blue green eyes like the sea.