It was a glorious morning for watching the waves. The warmth of the sun was gently coaxing the dew from the ground in a misty sheen that mixed with the spray from the sea. And what a sea it was. No limp, lax waves were these, whispering softly in the sands. No, these were great, crashing things whose turgid swells brought to mind elephants and rolling grey whales. They reared back from underwater rocks to fall upon them with greater strength, their roar causing us to raise our voices to be understood.
And so for the most part, we remained silent, eating apples from Kathy’s tree as we started out at these waves. And when at last we tossed away our stems and seeds, brushed off our pants, and continued on, they stayed with us, accompanying our stroll along the cliffs.
Their spray spread a veil of mystery over the southward cypress groves. Their crashing was the voice of the elfin pine tree forest even farther south. They lept up to greet us when we stood on the edge to look down. And as we followed the path back to the car, they rocked the buoy whose warning bell came faintly to us on the wind rustling through the coastal prairie grasses.