I-55

Wind kicked up the sea foam, sending great white chunks of the stuff circling in the air--a cyclone of spume.
The wind came from the Atlantic and crashed into the giant umber colored cliffs of Lagzira beach. The rock face was sheer and 100 feet high, leaving no place for the wind to go but up. The foam couldn't help buy join, riding the currents higher and higher until it became shadow wheeling on the sand.
As my friends and I walked down the beach, we struggled through the gusts, gingerly stepping over the flat round stones that covered the sand. We came on a whim, told that if we were in Sidi Ifni we couldn't miss the Lagzira arches. The first one was ahead of us, its dark frame outlined by the sun. It was 50 feet wide and just as thick, and it seemed to emerge from the sea.
At the arch's base was a small cave. Three men had set their camp in it, their blue tents arranged in a circle, a fire pit in the middle. In the sand, they had drawn the Amazigh free-man--two open bowls, one facing up and the other down, a straight line drawn through them. The men sunned themselves at the mouth of the cave. One had brown dreadlocks and wore his wetsuit open to his waist, the arm sleeves dangling at his knees. He waved to us as we approached, and we greeted him with a warm, "As-salamu alaykum."
We spent some time exploring around the base of the arch, languishing in the shade. Already, we were talking about our riad in Mirleft, about showers and dinner and naps. We were content to stay there, seeing as the opening of the arch was filled with water. I was curious, however, about the other side. Standing in the mouth of the tunnel, I could see that the waves didn't quite cover the land--there was a small path along the landward column. I told my friends I would be back.
I stayed close to the wall, running my hand over the uneven surface that varied between rough and smooth. The echo of the waves crashed around my head, and the receding water pulled loose stones over each other, making a trill clacking sound that seemed like applause. I saw the far opening and more beach beyond. When I stepped out into the full sun again, I knew I would have to bring my friends here.
There, no more than a mile away, was the second arch, resolute as the first. I needed to reach it, and I wanted my friends to join me. How could we stop at the first when the next goal was so crisp in the noonday light? How could we not seek what lay on the far side?