An early morning at sea. The sun is peeking through the clouds and there is that small brisk of air that tickles your nose- the sort of cold that you can only experience on the open sea. The breeze has a different texture, a briny finish against your cheeks.
To my left there is a continuous sea, the vastness of the Pacific ocean sweeps the horizon. The ocean seems boundless when I am on the boat. It’s like I can encounter the untold out here- it must be the denude of the surface.
When you let the ocean assert her dominance- you cannot be hurt by her aloofness.
The callous world does not effect the capacious ocean. She shouts commandments by the way of waves, is somber and immovable with her shores. Her surf emanates a fragrance of peace. I could never foil her power, she hurts me with her mystery. Yet I can find shelter in her swell. For my fear of her is quite groundless, for aren’t most things crowned by a rough finish?