The seas are deep and mysterious. Erratically terrifying. Bound by nothing but the flood, you have no bearing where you are. Just a compass to tell you where to go. The fierce sun or furious clouds may be above you. Below you, bewildering depths.
But, then again, the sea is not a destination, it’s a journey.
This sea full of life . . . and death. Plunge deep, find another’s tomb. . . or maybe their lost treasure. At dusk, paradoxes magnify. The moon gives shadows only, not clarity, and you’re left conjecturing on whether the strange notes you hear are the kind creatures of the abyss, or the sirens of malintent. . .
But, for me, I rest in this ocean, stray in this sea. I’m adrift in this briny air, with the sea-birds orchestrating their charming cacophony to the rhythm of waves.
Yes. . . I’m lost. . .strayed. . .adrift. . . not in the ocean. . .not in the sea. . . because yes, they are deep and mysterious, just like I’ve described. But, truly, this most deep and mysterious place I’m in. . . is a place called love. . . And I’ve just hopped off my boat.
© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.