Ocean waves glide towards the shore in a slow rhythm, one after another, measuring the time like an ancient, gently murmuring clock. But there is a grander, slower rhythm, which looks like a frozen present to the human eye. Here and now, it seems that the shore is shaping the waves, constraining and breaking them, yet in the grand scheme of things, it’s the other way round: the curves of the high shore have been molded by the tides over the centuries and centuries of steady beat.
The most momentary of all — and most fleetingly picturesque — is the sea foam, its glistering fireworks erupting at the meeting point of water and earth, and disappearing in a matter of seconds. If the foam could think, it would probably imagine itself to be the main actor on this grand stage, the hero of the story being told — full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
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