The white waves of the sea threw themselves onto the shore with a somewhat desperate air. The tide was receding, and the ocean kept sending its cold hands up the glistening sands, trying to hold onto what it had, only to fall away.
My feet sunk deeply into soft beach. Families, children, dogs, seagulls crying, kites sailing, white crested waves in the distance, grey horizon, and my thoughts to trouble me as I walked.
The roar of the ocean pervaded all.
It was everywhere.
A soft song—never begun and never quite ending.
A tuft of grass here and there clung to a hill of sand. I climbed up the rise and looked out over the blue expanse of sea. Trying to let my thoughts go out with the tide, to leave me, to be swept away into that deep darkness—I sat myself there amid the yellow stalks and let my eyes become all of me, my ears, my nose, the taste of the air, the wind passing my skin.
It all passed over me, and I passed no judgement, holding onto nothing, thinking nothing, just being . . .
The great fire of the sky cooled, dying, falling, and darkness was felt in the corners and stretching shadows. All around were whispers here and there of the night. The sun descended into the great basin of the world, fell into the darkness of the deep.
Tale Told 