In the wide bay, an old bomb warehouse sits gazing towards the large open bay. Giant rocks line where the hill meets the sea where marine life flourishes with barnacles, mussels, and little creatures that scurry around on rocks and in pools.
The pungent scent of sea salt makes my lungs burn and screech and the smell of decaying animals torture my lungs.
As we paddle to the warehouse, the waves get rough and bumpy, and as we struggle the wind denies our entry to the shore of the warehouse and salty water manages to enter my mouth.
The sound of the waves crashing against mammoth rocks is all around me, echoing throughout the bay. Wind whistles in my ears as if it is trying to deafen me.
I dip my finger into the warm, soothing water. As we beach and cargo the kayaks to the trailer. It takes all my strength to heft the heavy kayak across the beach, up the stairs, and place it behind the trailer. My friends go back down to the beach to have one last splash in the mid-temperature water. I chose not to join them because the late afternoon breeze was getting to me and the clouds were gathering above us. They beckoned to me to join them in the water, but I refused to join. I sat there on the front seat, warmth filling me throughout my body. Once we came back from kayaking, I headed straight for the shower.
Good writing Benya, It is very descriptive, good work keep it up.