The Ocean Is Endless

The ocean is endless. Between the hazy, undefined line of the never ending horizon, and the muted tan sand that makes up the beach, the waves rise and fall with unrelenting fervor. One or two gnarled rocks rise from the blue-grey water about a hundred yards from the shoreline, but after them, there is nothing to break the swells. Every few seconds, waves crash over these rocks, the white foam at the forefront of the curling tide, devouring the stark black like a hungry animal, or attacking it like the foot soldiers of an immense, unstoppable army of surging water. When it recedes, giving the weary rock an infinitesimal relapse, ocean spray peels off of the rough, mussel adorned surface, helped by the blowing wind.
Dimly recognizable is the line where the ocean meets the sky; the harsh, steel blue fades into soft white and grey and you realize you can no longer see the dancing whitecaps. In an instant, the scene changes and the clouds pour rain into the roiling expanse. A fog obscures the horizon further as the white hanging behemoths dip to skim the moving surface. With one more blink comes another change and the vast waves take on a green hue.
It is said that hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn. The ocean is another matter entirely. The undulating, roaring waves threaten to engulf anything and everything it its path. Turn your back on her waters for a moment and she may sweep your legs from under you without a care, her tide pulling you from the safety of the sand to the uncertain, murky, turbidity of her embrace. The almighty power in the sluices of the deep commands unwavering respect. Betray that reverence, and, like a candle in an unforgiving wind, not even one second will separate you from being extinguished forever.