Language of the Ocean

Language of the Ocean

The amber sun sets, radiating light

   off of the crisp waves crashing

      to the shore, disturbing

         the sand. A woman with

flowing black hair sat in those sands,

   eyes closed, wind tousling her

      clothes.

         It was going to be dark soon

and she needed to return home.

   No matter the bubbling elation she

      felt when she spotted a baby

sand crab running across the shore

   in front of her, trying to reach the ocean,

      other creatures came during the night

         on the beach as well.

Her name was Ren, and she

   was named for the ocean. Never

      had she known anyone with an affinity

         for the ocean quite like hers.

      The ocean brought Ren peace and

filled her with calm,

   with the crashing,

      pushing,

         pulling,

            swishing,

of the waves, the sweet, salty wind,

   the sting of the sand on her skin.

She was born in a hut near

   this beach to a mother with no man

      to look after her. With a father, would

she have connected so easily

   to the entity that was the ocean?

      The sun continued to sink behind

         the salty abyss and Ren knew it was

past time to head home. Rising, brushing off the

   excess sand on her legs, and turning

      towards the east, she began her venture.

          Spots on the sand reflected what was left

of the sunset and she wished nothing more than to capture

   the rainbow spectrum shining from the ground

      like an illusion one might see walking

         through a desert with no water.

            Moving on, certain she would be able

to see that spectrum of light again one day,

   she reluctantly sped up her pace.

Walking further and further, she was

   disheartened with every clear blob, like

      a slab of jelly, stuck in the sand.

        

         But then something else,

            something new, came into view.

               Ren had never seen a beached whale,

a beached shark, or any other creature of a similar nature

   in person. A small figure, not even the length of

      an adult forearm, was wriggling in the hot sand.

         Ren knelt down beside it.

            The creature was none other than

a baby shark.

   Ren had always known the ocean can

      speak to us

         with waves and

            with sand,

through the creatures she can send our way.

   She doesn’t speak our language,

      but instead uses one similar to that of human body language.

         Ren could always understand.

The tossing, turning ocean can be cruel,

   cruel to her subjects,

      cruel to her visitors.

She spits beasts left and right

   to be devoured by the crisp sand

      and dried by the burning sun.

Why would she do this?

   Ren wondered.

      Had her creatures wronged her?

Beached whales, stranded sharks,

   fishermen reeling in dinner –

      all causing the loss of her population –

         no matter their age or heritage.

            The ocean can’t discriminate.

Ren toiled away to save this baby

   shark, trying time and time again to throw it into the

      ocean, but he kept returning,

         he continued to be rejected.

She tossed him in one last time,

   throwing him as far as her scrawny arms

      could muster.

         She wanted to believe that she succeeded,

that the baby was saved. The last time

   she threw it, she hadn’t spotted it

      again, but it had been returned to the shore

   so many times that she wondered if it

      really had done something wrong,

something offensive to the rest of the critters in the waters.

   But still, as she trudged through the dark,

      through the sand,

         she was calmed again by

      the unpredictability yet

         complete

certainty of the water and its tides,

   even if that certainty is not so

      certain.