The Shore

        There is a primal fear that emerges when you walk alone by the sea, and watch the tides come in. 

        You watch the waves born and grow; they charge, in the most imposing fashion.  Each one stronger than the last.  It’s majestic, most undeniable.  You watch the water steals away sands beneath your steps, it leaves behind bubbles between your toes.  You feel the torrent.

        You try to suppress the deeply rooted fear, resisting instinct with reason. 

But then you stop.  Standing still, you look up and face the boundless ocean.  The Pacific Ocean.  You let the fear overcome you.

Then you remember.  This is when the sea put its enchantment on you.  This is when you love it most whole-heartedly.

Suddenly, an extraordinarily fierce wave washes in, you jump up and run toward the land, but it quickly catches up, and drenches your pants. 

You run, barefoot on the stones, until one stone catches your eye.  You pick it up, feeling like a child again.

It reminds you of the shelves in your childhood home.  And that one, that makes you think of your grandmother.  The remarkable green of this looks like a miniature Taroko Gorge; it makes you think of Hualian, the land of lotus.  That one seems like a Monet’s frog, and the exquisite lines on those must be the handiwork of modernists.

You walk, observe, and discover, until your feet hurt so much you can’t possibly bare.  Then you drop the last stone in hand (smile to the cheery clang when it falls into place), and walk into the water again.

On the bicycle ride back through the woods, the song What a Wonderful World plays in your head.  You can’t quite say why…but does it need saying?