I walked along the seawall after work tonight. Watching the waves I said a silent prayer that I would always live by the mountains and the ocean.
The waves rolled in big, bold and unceasing. There were a number of freighters dotting the expansive west coast horizon. One was heading out to sea as I walked along. Up close the perspective is completely changed. The sheer size is striking. That this behemoth vessel could sail swiftly across the ocean was unbelievable. I watched it sail off into the distance and slowly, it too became a dot that barely seemed to be moving.
A sliver of sunshine at the end of a grey day draws people to the ocean like a magnet. Women dressed in their Lululemon gear strode by, jaws wagging arms waving to complement the telling of the story. Old men sat on benches, huddled in their coats, talking in low voices. Their laughter was deep and throaty, punctuated by raspy coughs that could be heard long after I'd passed them. Couples strolled by hand in hand. We all looked out across the ocean.
Nothing about the ocean stays the same, not even for the briefest of moments. The movement is hypnotic, rising and falling, rising and falling constantly. Each wave different from the last. The swells from the ship that had passed a long time ago finally reach the seawall and came crashing over the seawall ahead of me. Unsuspecting walkers were surprised and ran foward laughing. Behind them, a middle-aged lady timed her passage through the danger zone. She escaped the wave but misjudged the depth of the puddles, and splashed through the puddle soaking her shoes and the bottom of her trousers. She laughed at the accidental playfulness. We smiled at each other: a shared experience between strangers.
Still the sea rolled on and on. At the pier I watched large logs get tossed about like toothpicks. Where did they come from? How long have they been there - smashing against the rocks again and again? Sometimes they'd have a short reprieve and be carried out to sea, only to come crashing back moments later. Behind me, every window glowed in the colourful apartment buildings as they reflected the last of the golden sun.
The only sound was the waves washing against the pier. Over and over again. People who walked on to the pier halted their conversation as if to cherish the last moments of the day. Lower, lower, lower the sun crept, and then it was gone. All that was left was a watercolour palette, splashed across the horizon, lasting only a few precious minutes.
Looking back to the apartments, their colours faded, and all that remained was their silhouettes, and their windows still reflecting the sky. Still the ocean tosses the logs, over and over again. One gets washed up on the rocks below me, only to be washed back into the ocean by the next wave. The ocean turned darker and darker.
Eventually the lights came on along the seawall, and the apartment windows went dark. Here and there, a light was turned on, breaking the spell. The sky still held on to a touch of blue, reluctant for the day to end. Below me, the logs could barely be seen in the darkness as they tumbled around in an inky sea. The descending darkness changed nothing for the ocean, she just kept on rolling, rolling, rolling.
Heading back along the pier, I paused at the pebbly beach and watched the water come rolling onto shore with a whoosh. It flowed back noisily, shuffling all the little rocks together. They tumbled towards the ocean, only to be washed back up with the next wave.
Changing changing always changing.
The waves had mellowed and were no longer splashing onto the path. Now they lapped at the rocks. Dark rocks under the dark sea, eroding with each wave. Endlessly.
The waves rolled in big, bold and unceasing. There were a number of freighters dotting the expansive west coast horizon. One was heading out to sea as I walked along. Up close the perspective is completely changed. The sheer size is striking. That this behemoth vessel could sail swiftly across the ocean was unbelievable. I watched it sail off into the distance and slowly, it too became a dot that barely seemed to be moving.
A sliver of sunshine at the end of a grey day draws people to the ocean like a magnet. Women dressed in their Lululemon gear strode by, jaws wagging arms waving to complement the telling of the story. Old men sat on benches, huddled in their coats, talking in low voices. Their laughter was deep and throaty, punctuated by raspy coughs that could be heard long after I'd passed them. Couples strolled by hand in hand. We all looked out across the ocean.
Nothing about the ocean stays the same, not even for the briefest of moments. The movement is hypnotic, rising and falling, rising and falling constantly. Each wave different from the last. The swells from the ship that had passed a long time ago finally reach the seawall and came crashing over the seawall ahead of me. Unsuspecting walkers were surprised and ran foward laughing. Behind them, a middle-aged lady timed her passage through the danger zone. She escaped the wave but misjudged the depth of the puddles, and splashed through the puddle soaking her shoes and the bottom of her trousers. She laughed at the accidental playfulness. We smiled at each other: a shared experience between strangers.
Still the sea rolled on and on. At the pier I watched large logs get tossed about like toothpicks. Where did they come from? How long have they been there - smashing against the rocks again and again? Sometimes they'd have a short reprieve and be carried out to sea, only to come crashing back moments later. Behind me, every window glowed in the colourful apartment buildings as they reflected the last of the golden sun.
The only sound was the waves washing against the pier. Over and over again. People who walked on to the pier halted their conversation as if to cherish the last moments of the day. Lower, lower, lower the sun crept, and then it was gone. All that was left was a watercolour palette, splashed across the horizon, lasting only a few precious minutes.
Looking back to the apartments, their colours faded, and all that remained was their silhouettes, and their windows still reflecting the sky. Still the ocean tosses the logs, over and over again. One gets washed up on the rocks below me, only to be washed back into the ocean by the next wave. The ocean turned darker and darker.
Eventually the lights came on along the seawall, and the apartment windows went dark. Here and there, a light was turned on, breaking the spell. The sky still held on to a touch of blue, reluctant for the day to end. Below me, the logs could barely be seen in the darkness as they tumbled around in an inky sea. The descending darkness changed nothing for the ocean, she just kept on rolling, rolling, rolling.
Heading back along the pier, I paused at the pebbly beach and watched the water come rolling onto shore with a whoosh. It flowed back noisily, shuffling all the little rocks together. They tumbled towards the ocean, only to be washed back up with the next wave.
Changing changing always changing.
The waves had mellowed and were no longer splashing onto the path. Now they lapped at the rocks. Dark rocks under the dark sea, eroding with each wave. Endlessly.
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