The high tide has covered almost the entire beach. Strips of sand are showing up here and there, surrounded by shallow water. I walk across shades of blue.
With each minute, the shades grow a bit darker. It’s late afternoon, but it feels like evening. Only a few people are left on the beach, and they are rushing to get back to their cars. Soon it will be all deserted.
I watch the storm clouds approaching. There’s something hypnotic about the way they move. Incredibly soft, like jellyfish, insinuating themselves ever closer. One moment you have the impression they’re completely still; the next moment you realize they’ve made another leap towards the shore.
There’s silence, as if a sonic wall would stand somewhere between the land and the sea. I can see the electric build-up in the clouds. I can see the heavy curtains of rain. But no sound reaches me.
Soon this space will all be mine.
I will be the king of sandcastles broken down by the rain. Of seaweed strips covering the beach like the innards of an unknown sea animal. Of deadwood brought by the storm, across the waters, from faraway places.
There’s a storm coming, from inside and outside. And I cannot tell anymore where one finishes and the other begins.
Riddle Me This 
An old friend used to say to me, in the ’90s: “The weather? You know it well: as the soul of the poet.” We are not all poets, but we feel how the Nature’s rhythm is balancing inside of us.* Amazing transformation to capture and such fine way to describe it. Thank you!
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Thank you, Liana! It was in 2019 that I walked on that shore, waiting for the storm. It’s funny how we can so easily forget many things but cling to some moments as if they have something to tell us. Something we have not fully grasped. Maybe they have.
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Indeed, Florin, those key moments.
Lately, most days, I leave my camera behind, because I feel that the images I would feel the need to collect will stay with me even better this way. I just walk without a job in mind and do nothing else than breathe, walk and look around. Immersing. And some answers (*for me, about me) are coming to me. Not from inside of me, but from these welcoming surroundings. Some other days – just fresh air and courage for my thoughts, and no answers at all. Nature is a good mother. The Mother, who knows so well her kids.
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Often, I feel this connection as a clepsydra.
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Good read. I wish there were more ( storms)
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Thank you.
Yes, I’m also attracted to storms. Some of my most vivid memories on the mountain / in the forest are related to heavy rain or storm.
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when I was a child growing up in the farm in Brazil, a storm was a very happy time, the children would take their clothes off (oh my gosh doing this the US would probably get our parents arrested) and run around the house stepping on puddles and getting wet in the warm, cooling rain. It’s funny how we grew up so carefree and how little our parents worried about our safety. These days children are told to hide inside and their window to the world is the Internet. I’m glad I grew up where I did when I did.
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