The glitter from the sun showed me soft, almost invisible, little figures on the surface of the water, like we can see in the clouds sometimes, about what has come and gone, and coming. Like it's in the deserts, I assume.
I was enjoying the perfect temperature in the Atlantic Ocean the other day and trying to time the waves, as the rising tide made them seem to crush further out, when I realized it must all be about how shallow it is, where they hit, besides where humans has built piers and walls, and rocks lay. The deeper the ocean, the bigger the wave, but without crushing, just rolling on longer. With tricky undercurrents and backdrafts ever reminding us of its powers.
How do we then know when and where the waves will crush when they do before arriving at the shore, out in the ocean? I can only tell from the beach. Here in Portugal they come in sets too but not rolling in the way or tempo they do in Hawaii, which makes it feel tricky to learn how far out I must go but still be able to get back up easily in between. Luckily, there were others also hesitating and someone going in before me, for me to also have as measure.
No control, it made me angry! Should it be something I should heed as a good instinct and avoid, or should I overcome it as a fear? It's all about what we see from a distance, like driving in traffic and if we can, or should, stop, realizing it as it happens and how much hits we can take or should have to face. As always, in life too. I made it on for a dip inbetween.
Fitting, a German marine biologist is also staying at the hostel now, here for a conference, while the wind added its energy and the water here was cut off. Oh, the irony. And the symmetry!