This is a story. It turns on the tide. It began on the ebb. The sea gave up a rock to the sun, wind and rain.
A standing rock of the land.
He, had waited. Its absence, a chiselled presence on his horizon. Waited to step out onto the rock given up by the sea.
Oftentimes, if he had a mind, he could feel its pressure pushing up against his feet. As he stepped into its time, he said to himself, “I am become life”. A tree wooded to stone. A living conversation in an ancient forest.
The silence and stillness of the rock rubbed that space between his skin and his clothes. He felt the air move around his body. The shape of him as he took in the horizon.
His breath, turned inwards, reached a deep place. He felt the power in waves of expansion and retraction. A changing space.
He moved deeper into his darkness. There, a stream became a river. It carried fresh water to the sea. A brackish mix as it turned on a wave.
His feet, touched the sound of water as it flowed over and over the rock. Land became sea.
Silently, he stood on the beach still.
Photo by Jake Hailstone on Unsplash