To stand on the sloping sand and feel it vibrating under your feet with the pull of each strong surge of tide. To know that to move too close to the water is perilous, that the churning, foamy water hides entire tree trunks the size of a semi-truck, that on a whim, the breakers may just decide to launch one of them ashore, no matter what is in it’s path, no matter how fragile is flesh and bone. I love standing close to this fury, to breathe it’s breath, to scream into it’s face, to unleash all the grievous injuries, both my own, and those I’ve unwittingly inflicted on others, to be swept out with the undertow and taken far off to sea.