The ocean is flat, so I asked myself if it was worth waiting. I wait.
It’s too early. The sun has barely broken over the water. My back is still covered in anticipatory goosebumps.
Here she comes. She’s glistening on the horizon. My hands freeze as they wade through her water. Paddle. Paddle. Take her. And I miss her. So I wait again.
Take every opportunity.
And I wait again.
There she is again. She’s coming in at the perfect angle. Take her. And I look ahead and paddle. I breathe harder. I look deeper. And I miss her. So I wait again.
When she comes again, take her.
And I wait again.
She’s resting. I rest and wait, because I’m learning to be patient. I’ll meet her half-way.
She’s ready. I watch her crest. I paddle harder this time, determined to catch her. I find my footing this time. For a moment, we ride together, until she changes her mind and takes me under.
I watch her from the shore, while I catch my breath. She ebbs and flows. I jump back in. And I wait. I’ve grown patient. I read her. This is not the time. And I wait.
I feel her now. I know when she’s ready. Every day is different. Every day I need to get to know her again.
Here she comes again. This is the right time. I’ve seen her look like this before. Turbulent and angelic. Born from a storm, delivered by the heavens. And I paddle. I don’t look back. This is another opportunity. And I ask her to come with me. I stand, and she rolls, and we find our balance.
Time slows, and we travel together, the board segregating us being the same that unites us. We’re one body, living and breathing. I feel and think her, and she me. We’re water and air.
At the shore, after a morning of finding each other, I thank her. With the crash of her last wave for the day, she thanks me.
Tomorrow her waves will differ, but we’ll find each other again. I won’t miss any opportunity. Every wave counts.
