The Surf Does Not Negotiate

The surf is not patient. I went straight for it, despite an agreement that we would just be, technology free. It was too seductive. Waves rushed in, froth faded out. Rhythmically, breaking their own repetition in between. I chased continuity, a cohesive progression, a scene that could be assembled into one long sentence. The water refused. Too much motion, too quickly. It gives before taking it back before it can be held. The surf is volatile and does not negotiate.

That is what made it so satisfying. At the threshold of beach and sea, with hot sun at my back and its heat in the sand, I could feel the limits of my tool and the limits of my own control. Feet in water, then feet in sand, walking the seam where the world keeps changing. Drawing, erasing. I followed the shifting cast of shadows as if they were threads. Sometimes the stitches held. Sometimes they buckled. Sometimes they produced something I could never have planned.