Swallowed By The Sea

I'm in North Carolina on vacation. It's nice. There is the sea, and family, and those things are nice.

There's much we haven't spoken of. This is not the place. But it's there, hanging over our heads. And no amount of explaining explains justly, because sometimes there is no justice in things.

I'm looking out at the sea, the endless sea, and I'm amazed at how far it goes. Exactly the same as a hundred thousand years ago, still vast and constantly in motion. Still lapping at our feet, trying to swallow us. Untamed and restless, and I feel lost in the stretch to the horizon. The clouds billow overhead, and they show the different colors of the sun's light. And at night, the moon rises slowly out of the water, bigger than life and yellow, as if it's trapped in an antique painting, slivers of cloud cutting across it. And there's sand beneath my feet, and for a moment I feel like I'm on solid ground.

Beyond our pale bodies, there's no interruption to the ripples of the sea. They only fade when my eyes fail me. There's something comforting there. As if we're looking at something more, the last vestiges of a world we can never understand, hidden deep beneath the white caps. And my eyes fill with water if I look too hard.

There is peace in this place, even if there is not peace where we are right now.