Cannes Beach
As I half-opened my eyes, they were hit by the muffled sunlight already flowing over the loose, ivory sheets draping my hotel bed. My parents and sister slept in the adjacent rooms and I was wary of waking them as I padded bare-foot into the achingly warm main room. The sun had barely broken the nighttime’s clouds, yet its rays speared through gaps in the deep, cream curtains in poker straight sharps of light, like sloth lighting bolts from curdled storm clouds. The palatial French doors echoed the call of the beauteous cool of the wind on the balcony leading me, so enchanted, away from the searing heat of the sun kissed sitting room. The viscous fabrics swallowed the delicate lines of light before panting and pushing the immoveable waves of warmth against my skin.
I gently folded back the heated curtain as it engulfing my fingers in beige flame of orchestrated sunlight. Giving the silk glass windows a forceful tug I proceeded, possessed, onto the balcony. The wind grabbed my hair and ran with it, like a child in an autumnal park with a kite. In order to leave the soft furnished Sahara behind I shut the pearly gates choosing not to gaze back at purgatory.
The balcony on which I stood showed itself as a metaphor for the city it gazed over. The quintessence of southern France consisted of unstable crescent of concrete worn by decades of enchanted feet. Like beauteous roses rising from winter’s hardened soil; elaborate golden railings climbed towards the innocent white of the marble handrail.
I flicked the tumbling curls of hair from my face as it continued to roll around like summer blossom in a wind of equal magnitude. As I cast my eyes upward the enormity of the view that lay out before me dawned like the morning light I was staring at so wontedly. I was on the top floor, in the central room, leaning on the central balcony of the most spectacular hotel in Cannes – my urban Everest with a view not dissimilar.
The sky stretched out before me, meeting the sea somewhere an infinity away. Lazy puffs of whipped candyfloss floated across the heavens, gilded by halos of glorious sunlight. The sea lay beneath in an equally poetic turquoise as the wind created snowy peaks in the oceanic goddess’ voluptuous curves. I then watched the toasted silk, which rested along the beach as sand melt my ice caps with a delicate spray.
My eyes followed the tusk of sand as it curved to the right of me creating a vivacious bay, before morphing through some conjurer’s trick into the neutral hills lounging in the distance. The poignant blue of the sapphire deities’ meeting place seemed a hard journey away from the dusty, musky heat of the room, inches behind me. The beads of sweat that had before adorned my forehead were replaced with the gentle caress of the wind as I stared still so mystified the view. Even if I had so desired I couldn’t have taken my eyes off what enthralled them so. It felt like I had never seen anything as truly beautiful as this; not stars in the night sky, nor England’s green pastures had left me in so much awe.
Resting my captivated head in my hands I began to examine the details of my new love. From the harem of yachts bustling in the harbour, to the ships dancing with as much grace as any ballerina across the crisp horizon.