Big things seem less big at the sea. Important things, strenuous things seem less important, less strenuous.
I used to think this was a magic trick, an enchantment created by the wind and the waves and the billowing sea dunes. But with every passing year I’m convinced it’s the other way around. We do not succumb to a spell when we come to the beach, we throw off an old spell. We tear a hole in our illusions and step out into the world of stark reality. We repose in that lengthening of time. All the year-long our eyes are on the clock and we get a lot done by mincing it into smaller and smaller pieces, squeezing productivity out of morsels.
So what? says the shore with its monotonous crash of waves. Steadfast, unceasing.
A dog barks in the distance and a lizard warms on a wood plank. Sultry haze. The naked eye floats out to sea and rests there for a while. Slower, slower, it says.
show & tell 