Salt and Rain

When fresh rain meets the salt of the sea. There is nothing like the scent of the collision.

I'm sitting 11 stories high watching the waves from a wicker chair. I can't sleep. It's storming, a mist finds its way to my face every few minutes, leaving dew on my skin. I keep staring at the turbulent whitecaps, waiting for a monstrous wave to consume the beach. I want one to dare to rise up a few feet and crash over the sand. Defiant. But even here in the storm, they're obedient, captive to the boundary of the shoreline. It amazes me, the compliant nature of earth. If only I could match it. I fear I'm a daily natural disaster, pushing the boundaries, the limits. Convinced that the beach is where I belong, crashing into the grains and sweeping away, leaving the land a little less complete. But my God restores the sands, and He always draws me back into the consistency of the tide. For this I am ever thankful. Indebted. The ocean and I. We owe everything.