The Atlantic Ocean, Troia, Portugal
March 7th 2021
Hardly a whisper and almost still, protected by the Arrabida mountain range whilst caressing the coast, the Atlantic Ocean is almost asleep.
Sandbanks still, just offshore, a natural barrier that slows the swell, which today was never there.
Blue, green, and blue, light shades and deep into the depths where light without reflection darkens what our eyes believe to be true.
Lying like a motionless form, a sheet of coloured glass reflecting perfectly what is around, nothing more is real nor true.
There is a sound, a whispering breeze, gently blowing a Thai-chi wind without force but gargantuan in its dimension, which goes beyond our reality of vision, in understanding.
The power of the prowl-less behaviour, calmly considering its enormity without the need for force; Sunday, maybe her day-off.
The softness of near non-movement, a Gandhi-form, gentle, a baby’s cradle, undisturbed, lovingly protected.
Where shall the Atlantic Ocean go, where builds the natural force that can change from Godlike to monstrous in a moments murmur.
Gracefully, not today and maybe not tomorrow, for who knows her thoughts, her desire and passion swelling out-of-sight.
I thank her for her presence, today a friend and compare her with a flower in the field after moistures dew.