General

These moments pass as photographs, each morphing so perfectly into the next. My inner eye sees each water-petal among the many, airborne in the briny breeze as translucent confetti. Then as if the almighty pressed "play" - they continue their journey in real time, companions in companionable silence. For in this time of rain, sky and sea become one.

General

These drops are only rain until they reach the sea, then they become a part of the briny blue, moving with the waves as one. I guess starlight is the same, shining as scattered seeds of perfect light until the return of the sun. Perhaps I should seek the shelter of the beach hut, linger in the cozy walls, wrap cool fingers around a warm chocolatey drink, but instead I'm mesmerized by the patterns, countless ripples overlapping in choreographed chaos.

General

That which evaporated from her briny waves returns as pure water from above, sending perfect ripples ever outward. This rain comes as if by divine request, to bring a freshness to our weariness, to remind us that we are connected to our world, that she reaches out for us. And so I stand on the bow and watch billions of transient crowns appear and fade, only to be made anew.

General

The rain gives of herself unto the ocean, each fragment becoming apart of the body of brine, of the waves and sea-lace. I hear each watery gift, softer than the patter on a rooftop, moving in subtle waves of its own according to the wind. I wonder if this is how music began, how mankind thought to conjure song and dance, by hearing the natural rhythms of nature. Upon the sand, the rain is almost silent, enriching the hue from cream to ears of summer maize.