The Sea is a Dark Mistress
Homeopaths tell us that water has a memory. If what they say is true, then consider the following:
The sea, by some accounts, is over 4 billion years old. Think about that for a moment; such an immense length of time is at best difficult to comprehend and at worst unimaginable. And did not life itself first emerge in the sea?
So contemplate, if you will, the countless trillions of organisms given forth by the ocean during that incomprehensible time span. Having done so, you may rightly marvel then at the legions of untold stories those very organisms have left lingering in the deep, dark blue; each drop of which a soundless epic written into the ever-evolving chronicles of life on Earth.
Taking that into account, ask yourself what subliminal stories might our intrepid hero encounter as she surges through the freshly carved waves in search of her muse? And from where did her obsession originate? Or more correctly, in whom, or in what did it originate?
She knows only that somewhere, out there on the never-resting sea, is the tale she seeks to tell upon returning to the land. It could be in those waves, there, just beyond these shallow breakers...
---
I know, I know. That bit in the middle. Tricky blighters, words.
Respect the comma.
Usual caveats etc.
Oh. Surfer, Summerleaze beach. Bude, Cornwall. January 2020.
The Sea is a Dark Mistress
Homeopaths tell us that water has a memory. If what they say is true, then consider the following:
The sea, by some accounts, is over 4 billion years old. Think about that for a moment; such an immense length of time is at best difficult to comprehend and at worst unimaginable. And did not life itself first emerge in the sea?
So contemplate, if you will, the countless trillions of organisms given forth by the ocean during that incomprehensible time span. Having done so, you may rightly marvel then at the legions of untold stories those very organisms have left lingering in the deep, dark blue; each drop of which a soundless epic written into the ever-evolving chronicles of life on Earth.
Taking that into account, ask yourself what subliminal stories might our intrepid hero encounter as she surges through the freshly carved waves in search of her muse? And from where did her obsession originate? Or more correctly, in whom, or in what did it originate?
She knows only that somewhere, out there on the never-resting sea, is the tale she seeks to tell upon returning to the land. It could be in those waves, there, just beyond these shallow breakers...
---
I know, I know. That bit in the middle. Tricky blighters, words.
Respect the comma.
Usual caveats etc.
Oh. Surfer, Summerleaze beach. Bude, Cornwall. January 2020.