Watching Residual Waves

Hurricane Bill swifted his way up the Atlantic sealine last week. Hurricane season, while always a serious threat, rarely gets out of hand in Charleston. Instead, it is known around here as the only time of year that a surfer can really see what it is like to surf - because this is the only time of year when the waves that are substantial enough to carry a surf board for longer than 3 seconds before collapsing into the rubble and sand.


On this particular evening, the waves had been reporting to the bouys at 6 - 8 feet. Normally, they are about 2-3 feet. The difference, to a local like myself, was fantastically spectacular.

As you can see, the sunset wasn't all that bad, either.




It took me over an hour to finally give in to the seascape. As I've gotten used to having it always as my easy escape, I have begun take it for granted.

But, there is definitely something soothing and that-which-evades-the-concept-of-time-or-obligation about the ocean. The smell of the saltwater, the sting of its spray as the waves coil into themselves, the constant and loud churn; somewhere in all of that sensory experience, it is very easy to lose yourself.

And losing yourself, only to find this - well...that is what makes life bearable. The pristine beauty, the laser pink sky that holds the setting sun. The ocean wind pushing willowy tufts of grass, as if marking its path northward, star-bound.