The sand was almost warm, as it furled around Abena-Izaura’s toes – while its slightly abrasive essence buffed her tender soles. The beige particles skipped, hopping up and over her feet, as if at the delight of having her massage their dry surface with her lavender-lotioned feet.
Abena-Izaura herself was in no way conscious of the commotion that her size four-and-a-halves were creating in the grainy landscape; nor did she take heed of the little shells and dried sea flora that she crushed delicately under foot. Her eyes were rather raised up and out, along the beach front—soaking in the absence of anyone but herself—as she took her usual morning walk.
Today, the air felt fresher - even if tasting a tad salty. And the sun was a welcome compliment to the glow of her bronze skin that peeked out of her short-sleeved top and cutoff-jean shorts. Abena-Izaura smiled as the soft sea breeze brushed against her face, leaving nothing—not even light perspiration—in its wake. The squawk of sea gulls could be heard in the distance, around Obay’s Head, where it appeared that those rather noisy white beauties loved to congregate.
Out toward the horizon, the ocean shimmered in shades of blue—running parallel to the beach front, in whimsical wavy lines like the dendrochronology of a tree.
Today, the water too was calm—drifting gently as it made its way in toward the damp shore, which Abena-Izaura always avoided. There was something about its wetness that she disliked. It reminded her of being cold and abandoned (alone in self-pity), and this was not how she wanted to remember herself in this world.
As Abena-Izaura reflected on such matters, a crab dashed across in front of her like an omen of sorts—what kind, she did not know. The only thing she was assured of is that the crab was more nervous about its existence than she was. In this, she found some kind of comfort – while she also pondered on the Twi proverb “Ɔkɔtɔ nwo anoma (a crab cannot give birth to a bird)”.