“Waves are the voices of tides. Tides are life.” ~ Tamora Pierce
Take me to the beach. Just don’t let it be a crowded one; not a Santa Cruz, where hordes descend for thrill rides and corn dogs on the boardwalk or to build sand castles or play a game of Frisbee. I don’t need to see string bikinis, or middle aged spread in a Speedo (Really, really I don’t).
Take me to a secluded beach – and leave. It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s just that I’m picky about my beachmates. My companions of choice are my author of the moment, a notebook and the gulls.
I don’t need conversation. I’m content to hear the voice of the sea; though the ocean can be an insistent raconteur. Try as I might to read, write or just laze in the warmth, the waves always demand attention, and once they have it, it’s hard to turn away. The waves are charmers. As much as you will yourself to turn away the enchantment compels you to watch the next and the next.
Above and below, Note the turmoil of the wave and the seeming serenity behind.
A wave can be small, gentle, a bump on the waist and a moment of bracing cold…
or a wave can be a fearsome, crushing behemoth.
There’s a paradox about waves. There’s beauty in their awesome strength and serenity in their thunder.
“I found myself in a sea in which the waves of joy and sorrow were clashing against each other.” ~ Naguib Mahfouz
In the end all waves, whether slight or mammoth or somewhere in between trail off into a gentle wash on the sand.
The waves come to shore and perish leaving something behind while the remainder goes back to sea to be reincarnated into the endless cycle of waves.
“The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.” – Isak Dinesen