Wavewatchers
firda
I fear, sometimes, that I might lose the sea. When I am away for so long, I worry I will forget its moon-driven rhythms; there is no clock in the city that ticks to the slow pulse of tides. When I’m away I am haunted by the dread that I will someday return and discover the briny taste of sea air and the primordial smell of saltmarsh have become foreign to me.
Those are city fears, traffic-quick fears, and they lose their sharp shape and form when confronted by the slow, protacted caresses of the sea. The waves that welcome me are the same waves I saw the last time I returned, the same waves I saw as a child. I could no more lose the sea than I could lose the breath of my lungs.
I may at times get ensnared in the rush of the city and forget my way to the sea. The sea is more patient; it never forgets its way to me.
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