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Faces of the Sea

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The sea is an ever changing thing…
On a sunny day, it is a clear blue, its water reflecting brilliant motes of light. Boats spread their sails wide as they leave the docks, pushed along by the refreshing sea breeze. There is the faint scent of salt upon the air, the rhythmic crashing of waves soothing whoever cared to listen. Occasionally, the cries of the circling seagulls or the roaring engines of a rushing motorboat pierce the silence, but soon, the simple presence of the sea washes those annoyances away.
As night draws close, the sun sinks to the horizon, its crimson light coloring the crest of every wave. It is the time of lovers, watching the sunset together on a sandy beach with the sea beside them, a witness to their romance. Its waters darken, gaining a deep, velvet blue hue in the eyes of its beholders. The air is cooler now, the wind dancing over the depths, bringing with it the memories of everything it had seen during its voyage over the land.
The moon rises, replacing the bright light of the sun with a soft silver sheen. It peeks through its veil of clouds at the glassy sea, watching its thousand reflections riding atop every wave. All is calm now, the boats back at the pier, the seagulls returned to their nests. The waves washing over the beach provide the only accompaniment as the waters begin to glow with life. The film of plankton gives off an eerie glow, mixing with the light of the moon.
Suddenly, the dance of light is interrupted as an ominous mass of black clouds blot out the moon. Distant thunder booms out across the sea, its call answered by the frenzied wind as it begins to churn the waters. The waves grow as the storm closes in, the gales urging them higher and higher. The boats strain against their moorings as hard raindrops pound their decks, the aging wood creaking as the hull swayed back and forth. A fork of lighting splits the sky, followed by another and another, the sky putting on a violent and yet beautiful light show for all to see.
Soon, however, the clouds spend themselves, the gales are reduced to zephyrs, and the moon peeks out again behind the thinning clouds. Slowly, the waves calm, no longer driven by the wind, cradling the boats that had survived their sudden ordeal. But one boat floats a hundred yards from the docks, trailing behind it a broken piece of rope, looking forlorn and lonely as it drifts further and further away. But the sea does not need such a thing, and so the currents carry it along, depositing it on one of the nearby beaches. Its frantic owners would find it by the next dawn, just as the rising sun shines on another face of the ever-changing sea.





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