The Giant

Polly woke before dawn. The lantern was trembling. The sea was the color of old silver. Huge ordered lines of water marched across it, one behind another. Each line was taller than the last. The boom was not just a sound now. Polly could feel it in the stone and in her feathers.

Then the giant came. Far out, one line rose and kept rising. It rose higher than an apartment block. It was a moving grey mountain with a white crown. A jet ski pulled a rider onto it. The tiny rider flew down the face of the wave, small as a comma on a huge page.

The wave folded and exploded. White water jumped the whole height of the cliff. Cold spray burst over the fort like rain. The spray fogged Polly's glasses. The roar was like thunder that would not stop.

All afternoon the giants kept coming. A crowd of animals stood on the headland, dogs and foxes and gulls, cheering every ride. The light turned gold under the storm clouds. Polly held the red lantern, wet and happy.