This is the place I learned to love the sea, the place where our island bleeds into the ocean that relentlessly batters this soft earth into an unwilling submission. The faces of the cliffs above slashed by trembling lines, the final bleeding traces of the land that sits atop. This raging sea betrays the silent, dispassionate blue sky of the first days of spring sweeping above. Both stretch uninterrupted to the horizon, and meld in their own infinity.
Here, on the frontline though, their separation I have never witnessed so distinct. The fringe between land and sea appears frazzled, the ground beneath my feet shudders as each wave pounds into the boulders beneath. The air is filled with the reek of seaweed; atomized, forced into the air by the treacherous force of each ragged howl.
The thunderous tumult of the roiling boulders, thrown about by deep water beyond is pierced by the desperate screech of the scattering foam as it rattles and scurries its way onto shore.
The land does not yield. Silently it sits in blank stoicism, ignoring the taciturn deeds of this harbinger in crystal raiment. Today the sea seems angry, like the chattering white caps are echoing the despair of all the people around the world concerned with its future, and like the rest of the world who care not, the blue sky looks down, unmoved.
This picture of the moon was taken on a fairly long hike back home after this incredible day. The elements were on full display, and this moon did not disappoint.
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