Tides

The tide has turned. After years, the tide has returned. Its a eerie feeling: of speaking moonlight, singing waves, and smiling skies.

Like sand-papered skin, every feeling is intensified, heightened. The wind whispering against you face can make you go crazy. A streak of lightening can drive you mad. A growl of thunder can make your heart rumble.

The waves carressing the shore is a throbbing murmer that underlines the night. The rock, glistening wet, ugly, carbuncled, grostesqly fascinating, stands an unmoved spectator. The lighthouse above arcs yellow mottled beams across the night in rythmic handfuls.

The tide has returned. Once more, after a long time, the still water have been stirred murky. All the life in the ocean has swum up to the surface, and She is awake again. The waves are constant and unceasingly bright and strong. Sometimes dark grey, sometimes bright blue and green, but coloured once more. Once more, She is alive, almost human.

The wind racing across the water and out towards the shore, rushing out to join the sands and ruffle its unbound surface, sings joyfully. The sand is not bound together. The sand is loose and fancy-free. It flies with the wind. It sings and dances and plays. The sand goes everywhere, knows everything, loves everything. She knows, yet she lets him in. The waters accept everything

Originally Posted at Prerona.