I used to focus on the tides.
I was mesmerized by their consistency. All of the chaos of the ocean behind every wave, pulling against every grain of sand.
The way the sun dries some of it before I realized the wave made it that high on the beach.
The gentle glisten of the light before it hardens back to stone.
The way that it comes.
The way that it goes.
Tidal. Oceanic. Gravitational. Orbital.
Closing my eyes to hear the rhythm. The crash, the bubbles, sometimes the laughter across the beach. Sometimes the silence.
Wondering what’s out there.
Scraping the surface.
Diving the depths.
The ocean mixes with the air at the beach.
The salt, the sand, the water, the heat from the sun.
Perfectly balanced.
The rhythm can move you. Just… a nudge, A subtle push to slow down. To listen. To be at peace with the movement.
What’s out there? How deep do the currents move? How fast could I ride them if I didn’t need to breathe?
How would my body feel under the pressure of atmospheres?
The weights of the world. The weight of worlds.
Before…
The moon tugs.
Lifting the ocean just a little higher. Answering.
A little less pressure in the depths.
Up onto the beach.
Onto the sand.
And it draws a new line.
The tide rises.
In a rhythm.
A rhythm I am part of.
A rhythm I get to be a part of.
Balanced.