Tides of the Day (21.10.2007)

Living near the sea one is familiar with tides. I know my seas. Deep, often unfathomable and always, surrealistically beautiful. Open air, sand crumbling under the weight of my feet. With every move I step into sodden sand that lightens for an instance as it loses its water, but darkens again the second I pull away. Very much like the mind. Areas I briefly wander into, but turn away from too soon.

The vastness of the sea flanking the shore. The breeze. The freedom.

The romance of the moon, the fire of the sun. Tugging, pulling, tempting.

That was before.

But even when I moved inland I felt the lull of the sun and the moon. A dark night, with nothing but the shore and the light of the moon, with the tide lapping against the mighty earth's chest like a old familiar lover wronged. Again and again. Softly, mournfully.

And like an old flame, the tide lamented it inability to reach its muse. They tempted but their love was fickle. Burning hot and cold like the hot desert wind and its chilly companion the night wind, the sun and moon looked down condescendingly but would not bring the bemused up to their love.

So I left, and came inland.

But I see that the tide runs over my front door now. I am no muse. But she is as heart broken as I am. So we run with the breeze, falling and rising on the breath of those who will listen. She sings of old loves and I am her willing audience. Her songs resonate with me. She needs her audience and I my shama.

 * This is a post from six years ago. It is proof that one writes better in youth than in old age, even if the subject matter is pretentious and self congratulatory. I can no longer write like this. Pity*

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