Its thunderclap can be heard from a mile off. It doesn’t rattle the windows or knock things from shelves, the distance makes it a miniature version of its actual self. Even so, the muffled clash brings the knowledge that distance only makes it sound lilting, commandable, harmless. When one draws near, the crashing is not simply a thing to hear. It’s a resonance so titanic, one can feel it in their core; a rumbling in their chest that makes the heart skip a beat, that traps air in their lungs and freezes the muscles in their body so that standing and staring in awe is the best they can hope to do.
A tempo surges from beyond the horizon. Great curling faces rise up from nothing and turn down upon themselves. Its features are elusive, ever changing and without specific detail, save for the caps of white that frame it. As they rise, there is the sound of silence. The sound of waiting for something wonderful. A grand intake of air, a pause, as if time stands still, as it grows to its apex, holds, then falls in on itself. Rumbling, tumultuous volumes and the sound of a stirring earth fills the air. The silence is gone. It reverberates on the wet, rocky walls and shoots spray upward like a festival display of fireworks.
The horizon is the color of a TV tuned to a dead channel. A cacophony of grey tones, swirling with moist air to create an event so chaotic, so hopelessly disorganized, that it feels purposeful. Rain and wind. Cold and salt. Tumult and hard forces. All the ingredients for a perfect storm.
Its power is awe inspiring. Beautiful. Meditative. And terrifying. It puts the fear of God into me, but not fear from malice. Fear and respect for its power. Of its capabilities. Of its perfect presence. In part, I fear of what would happen if I were to dive into the waves below, I fear its tremendous power to dash me against the rocks or pull deep into the heartless depths of itself. But most of all I fear that something as insane as diving into those foam filled waves sounds alluring.
It does not seek to destroy the way a predator seeks its prey. There is no malice behind its purpose. It has great power, but it does not have desire.
It simply exists.