I’ve come to love – and fear – the ocean.
It – we love to say “she” – is moody. Tempestuous. Alluring.
Quite unlike a meadow or garden, no matter its charm. (We’d never say “she” regarding them.)
The crabs I find in the tide pools are small, usually too little to eat. And the fiddler, with one outsized claw, rarely ventures this far north. But I love the possibility of adding music.
Especially as I listen to her roar.
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