Nature's Little Hiccups

...So, been dealing with some pretty wild weather on the Seacoast of NH these past couple of weeks... I'm learning that life on the beach isn't always so "beachy"... it can actually get quite scary. The day you stand on your front porch and stare out at the waves pounding on the shore, feeling the vibrations of their power in your feet, and watching the sea foam-spray coming up over the sea wall, it can be breathtakingly beautiful and breathtakingly terrifying all at the same time. Tonight when I got home from some much-desired and deserved girl time with a friend, I decided to cross over that sea wall and sit on the rocks of the beach for a few minutes. It was dark, but the clouds had parted and there were stars shining brightly in the night sky. The wind had died down significantly from it's previous force during the day, but it was still blowing the tidal foam around on the rocks. All I could see as I looked out into the ocean, searching for the lights of the Isles of Shoals, was massive waves, all capped with white, and thundering as they approached my position on a rock just mere feet from the path in the sea wall. At first, my breath caught in my throat as I watched this humongous wave approaching, hearing the threatening, thundering crash that announced its arrival. Should I move? Did I even have time to move before the water would rush up over me, ultimately knocking me down upon the dark, wet rocks?

Calm down, anxious Butterfly.

In the 20-30 yards between the crest of the wave and my trembling self, both in alarm and in shivering cold, the wave crashed, splashed, and spread itself out to gracefully creep up the rocks that were still a car's length away from me. I forget how quickly that captivating power can climax and begin to relax, even before the cold, blackness of water can even reach one's feet. I moved only once in the 20 minutes I sat there, when a particularly close wave managed to splash me lightly enough to remind me that yes, Mother Nature was aware of my presence and was willing to play games. I can't even begin to describe the feeling of standing there in the cold wind, which was actually a bit warmer tonight than it has been in several nights, and look out as one after another after another wave crested, crashed, and sprayed up into the dark night sky. Like gentle white fireworks exploding with a thundering boom against the large rock that I once climbed during a bonfire my roommate, our friends, and I had at low-tide. It was thrilling and exciting at the same time, to realize that these waves are actually taller than I am, and hundreds of times more powerful, and I was standing just. that. close.

The last, fleeting thought I had, as I shivered one last time and turned to clamber back up the sea wall and head towards the warm confines of my cabin, was how I wished I had had someone there to share it with. Someone who would understand my awe at the power and beauty and terror that the ocean holds. Someone who is hours away in body, moments away in spirit, and always right beside me in heart.