Instead of going down to speak to the sea of all
my complaints, I listen for once to the sea. Unwavering lines of thunder and
whisper meet the shore in constant address. They are the edge of unspoken depths
whose surface sheen is their silent reminder. Rock pools gurgle with December
laughter, sloshing with shell and pop-kelp only childhood calls baubles.
Perpetual watery wind and windy water powers up then down, louder
than any shell to the ear. While further off, icebergs dissolve in cracks.
Glaciers speak their last and give up the ghost, tides heightening a whole new
language.
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