Bridesmaids

Four bridesmaids stand in bare feet before the lip of the incoming surf, young chocolate colored gowns billowing in the breeze, freshly undulating onto the sand as if they had been newly poured from above, jet-black hair flying like pirate flags above their shoulders, four swift, sleek schooners at play in the salty mist. This day a man and a woman will be married. A stiff gust pulls at the women's gowns from behind such that the gowns cling to breasts and hips, presenting four female figureheads to the sea, offerings to an ocean god, and then changes its mind, a thing of whim and trickery, catching the garments and causing them to swell outward as if each maiden had found herself suddenly pregnant and at term. The four women shriek and leap backwards, for the sea has caught them by their toes and then dashed away again, forever longing, according to its nature, both to depart and to arrive.