The sea is only rain collected

image: Tina Urso McDaniel 2018

There is a hard and wearying relentlessness to any ocean shore. Remove the people and manmade structures and its persistence only becomes more acute. There is nothing about an open shoreline that for me does not bring weariness.

When there is sun, it unrelentingly bakes and burns; attempts to find refuge in the water only doubles this effect. On any shore, the wind blows unabated, chafing the skin and tearing the eyes. Come a storm, or simply rainy climate, the rain feels particularly unceasing. Where is there shelter? The sea is only more rain, collected. Salt clings with unending constancy to every crack and corner. The finest of sand beaches is so tenacious it can take weeks to rid yourself of its remnants.

By the sea one is unprotected, tossed around by wave and wind, sun or rain. Fog may consume you completely if you are not careful.  Bitter cold or thirsting hot, there is no respite. On the calmest day the waves are ceaseless, and on bad days may carry you away or bash you against the rocks. Even the boldest humans, save sailors, only venture along its periphery. Cheerful families take comfort in their manmade shelters, nestling into books and coverups, huddling under towels, to tell themselves they are safe despite the mounting evidence around them.

Let me stay at these distances. Give me the shelter of forest and rock. I will settle for the ocean’s tamer transformations to bay and river, lake and waterfall. I will not tarry here.