Sinking in the shore with grains of sand indefinitely trickling over my toes, I wander into the vastness of the sea. And like every man before me, I fall victim to the beauty of its uncertainties. I draw a line where the water meets the sky: to define the horizon’s end. But as I watch the water move – a cloth lifting and sinking with the touch of a passing breeze or curling into its own threads to start the stitch anew – I cannot bring myself to accept the cruelty that it ends.
Young cling to the safety of the shore: marks of a beginning. Splattering in clear waters, playing ‘brave’ with their feet held tight by shell-sifted-sand. Chasing freedom with a confidence that should they slip someone would catch their fall. They stare into the thick depths in fear of what they cannot see.
Only few, older, more curious, perceive the depth’s thickness for what it is. A collection of folds held together by a lace of blue; each layer a landscape to discover something new. With the wisdom of sea-bound birds that precede them, in clarity and precision, their bodies pierce through these shades. Engulfed by the water around them, tangled in the weeds of storms and hurricanes, dragged by forces into the darkness of the caves below. And yet, untouched by the whirls and winds, some rule the sea-bed, soar through density, slurp from every hidden mollusc, paint the shells to be unearthed by those who succeed them. And only resurface, victorious.
Until they too run out of breath. And their skin begins to crinkle, where every crevice still holds dear droplets of salt. They float; slow and steady, braver and more certain. Unafraid of the darkening blue beneath them, that now holds them safer than the distancing fresh sand ever could. Lingering farther than any buoy, they become the sparse dots that shape our horizon. With the sea, their closest companion, they fade past what my eye can see…
into the infinite sea’s end.
Where one day, I will join them too.
Author – Dione Cavadias