I stared out at the ocean, backed by a deep blue sky, that edged on a murderous purple near the horizon. Standing there, I saw the power of God, in that storm, and in that water. Venturing out, I took on the smaller waves.
One by one they crashed into me. First at my ankle, then my knees and waist. Soon, they were pounding into my chest. Each wave would shove me backwards, towards the shore. Defiant, I pressed onwards. Further and further I moved. Two steps forward, one step back. Two steps forward, one step back. The waves were well over my head by now. The storm had moved closer. Now I was no match for them, on my feet. Diving into the next wave, I surfaced in the turbulent undertow of an oncoming monster. Paddling for all I was worth, I pushed through. Stroke after stroke, I pulled myself away from land. Hand over hand, I forded the advancing army of water.
Finally I was in the calm. I stood, and surveyed my position. The people on the beach were small, far away. The water was gently nudging me; left, right, forward, backward. The ominous sky was still advancing, but rumbled gently, as if to applaud my efforts.
Proud of my work, I turned, and caught the next wave home.
Later that day, I stood on the beach, the water barely rushing over my feet, and watched the storm advance. I was now surrounded by clouds on three sides, and thunder rolled freely. As I watched the waves wash over my toes, I had a feeling that is difficult to describe. The water was flowing past, and I stared into it. Mesmerized, I felt as though the world was flying past me. I braced myself, but I didn't know why. Many times, I caught myself leaning backwards, perhaps waiting for impact.
My feet were disappearing now, buried under the muddied water of the waves. The storm was pushing the water in farther, and now it reached my knees. The serenity of that moment, caught between an advancing storm and an advancing landmass, surprised me. I looked around at the rest of my crew. They had no idea what they were missing, and I was sad for them.
Finally, I pulled my feet out of the sand, saluted the thunder, and walked back to my friends.
It was a good day.
One by one they crashed into me. First at my ankle, then my knees and waist. Soon, they were pounding into my chest. Each wave would shove me backwards, towards the shore. Defiant, I pressed onwards. Further and further I moved. Two steps forward, one step back. Two steps forward, one step back. The waves were well over my head by now. The storm had moved closer. Now I was no match for them, on my feet. Diving into the next wave, I surfaced in the turbulent undertow of an oncoming monster. Paddling for all I was worth, I pushed through. Stroke after stroke, I pulled myself away from land. Hand over hand, I forded the advancing army of water.
Finally I was in the calm. I stood, and surveyed my position. The people on the beach were small, far away. The water was gently nudging me; left, right, forward, backward. The ominous sky was still advancing, but rumbled gently, as if to applaud my efforts.
Proud of my work, I turned, and caught the next wave home.
Later that day, I stood on the beach, the water barely rushing over my feet, and watched the storm advance. I was now surrounded by clouds on three sides, and thunder rolled freely. As I watched the waves wash over my toes, I had a feeling that is difficult to describe. The water was flowing past, and I stared into it. Mesmerized, I felt as though the world was flying past me. I braced myself, but I didn't know why. Many times, I caught myself leaning backwards, perhaps waiting for impact.
My feet were disappearing now, buried under the muddied water of the waves. The storm was pushing the water in farther, and now it reached my knees. The serenity of that moment, caught between an advancing storm and an advancing landmass, surprised me. I looked around at the rest of my crew. They had no idea what they were missing, and I was sad for them.
Finally, I pulled my feet out of the sand, saluted the thunder, and walked back to my friends.
It was a good day.
posted by Chris Ness at 18:10
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