letting go and ocean

I was in Newcastle on Hunter Street, riding up toward the beach on a bicycle, just on night fall. There was no other traffic about and I felt free to ride either on the road or the footpath. I realised that I was not wearing a helmet just as I noticed the police station on the opposite side of the street so I hopped off and pushed the bike along the path until I was well past the station and then continued riding up the street. At the end, the street formed a cul-de-sac atop a cliff, perched high above the rocks and waves below, and was enclosed by a rickety old white wooden fence. I left the bike and went to lean over the fence next to my brother who was waiting for me there. We stood alongside a woman who I didn't know; she was also leaning over the fence, looking down into the ocean. We were in semi-darkness and somehow we moved out from behind the fence to the rocks at the top of the cliff beyond. I became aware of how slippery the ground was, how dangerously sloping. I went down on all fours to better grip the rock and urged my brother away from the edge. He laughed at my caution, knowing that we were safe. I could feel barnacles and shells stuck fast to the rocky cliff face as I crawled back behind the fence. Suddenly the fence gave way and the woman plunged down into the sea. I was concerned and leaned over the edge to see if I could see her; there she was, floating happily in the water below. My brother and I decided to swim so we let ourselves fall off the edge of the cliff, dropping into the dark ocean. The water was deep and cool. I felt wonderfully buoyant and had a sense of the immensity of the ocean. We played in the water, diving under the slow moving waves as night fell, safe in the shadow of the cliff.