The Waves

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short naturalist piece centered around the ocean

Submitted: December 19, 2011

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Submitted: December 19, 2011

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The Waves

They speak to me, sometimes clearly, other times not. When the weather angers, the wistful white caps dance on washer machine water, giving every human, with the least bit of common sense, a warning of no entry. They crash, they clash, they collide in ways that seem random at a quick first glance. But in a stormy sea, each wave gets sucked into an almost “mob mental” state; singly they mean no harm, but when brought together by great forces, they can cause mass destruction.

The once calm, clean water churns and boils as if possessed by evil spirits from below. To me, this very much resembles an angry horde, where some great leader brainwashes individuals, and then proceeds to combine all of them to create an enormous power that wreaks havoc. These waves want to engulf me in their madness, it’s clear. Each immense wall of water climbs as high as she can up the shore before Mother Moon, the only current voice of reason within the sea, pulls her back. Their strained, foamy arms try to fight back against Mother’s orders, but manage to grasp nothing but a few lame clumps of seaweed festooned upon the shore, grains of loose sand, and mangled debris that will later be spit out once the ocean comes to her senses. Each wave gets a shot at the useless struggle. Some make it up the shore further than others, reaching my big toe at the most. They don’t realize that it takes little of my energy to just step back a few feet to remain safe.

I feel cruel when teasing the waves like this. It’s difficult to hold back the desire of just jumping in and becoming one of them. The idea of being able to lose myself and take hiatus from life truly enchants me.  In reality, though, I’d probably last but a short time before being drowned by the crazed ocean.

I’m addicted to the waves. The thin layer of salt that collects on my dry lips makes me yearn for more. As the storm calms and the murky water settles, the waves break from each other. They return to the humdrum of their daily lives, breaking upon the shore one after the other. They continue with their daily lives as if nothing had ever happened in earlier hours, though, just like the innocent Piggy in Golding’s novel, “Lord of the Flies”. They show no regret for their actions, for they do not believe that they even performed those actions. To each delicate liquid form, it appears as nothing but a bad dream. Mother Moon has her children back under control for the time being. And temporarily, she is content. Full-figured, glowing, and seated high in the sky, she has a bird’s eye view of her little ones.

It disgusts me to see them carry on without taking responsibility for their actions. Humans must clean up the debris that the careless waves spit upon the eroded shore. Humans must spend countless hours restoring the dunes that were destroyed. Humans must put their money towards projects that help fight erosion. We get stuck taking responsibility for their actions. There’s nothing else we can do, though. The moon has no arms to fortify the dunes, for she is stuck in the sky. The waves, with good intentions of fixing, will only damage the shore even more. The waves and their mother give back in different ways that are appreciated by everyone. A beautiful calm day with no current and crystal clear water is a picture-worthy sight to see. A fantastic swell is the answer to every die-hard surfer’s prayer. And if thought about all of this in depth, nature’s destruction brings us all together. Our true colors show when given a challenge too big for one man to face alone. The waves teach us lessons, too, about how to keep trying no matter how many times we fail. They’re constant, sometimes forgiving and sometimes not. When the weather angers, we must let the waves do as they please. Nature has no regard for man, and the cycle shall continue until the day that mankind chooses to give up.


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