A soft, gentle roll at sunset. Washing away the day. I walk down to say hello to the ocean in Parede.

Other beaches, other waves. A tempo with the tide, showing flow of life. At rhythm with traffic, surfers riding. Did Jesus walk on water or did he surf?

Before that, a gradual approach, the intensity brewing, building, coming closer... yet holding back. Sometimes growing, but hesitating, a wall of water coming at you.

Retracting. Silence. A harvest of seashells. Little mementos, some just common, others pretty in color and shape, some broken, some new and extraordinary to me, and some like mirrors of my thoughts. My writing is read and these brought to me as a gift. From who? God is the greatest artist.

Then a sudden roar and a crescendo. In Monte Estoril, the wave crashes over the wall onto the beachwalk, during winter.

Father Sun making love to Mother Earth.