Worn Rocks, Crashing Waves

I stayed by the ocean while the sun sank into it this fall evening, below a band of weather-beaten cliffs and above the ceaseless water. I watched the sea tumbling the rocks – imperceptibly rounding the edges of the larger, tossing and spreading the smaller like dry leaves in wind. Each wave was a giant's hand smoothing the beach: impossible power belying a nurturing touch.

Tripod-mounted in the dim light, my camera recorded the white water like mist. I worked until the starless night was black enough that I needed a light to make the long walk back through the rocks to my car, the tireless ocean pushing at my intruding feet. As I gained the cliffs, the white roar fell quickly away. From the top, the ocean was a dark hole, a blank edge showing no clue of the tireless work happening below.