The Weight of the Tide

The sand remembers. It holds the imprint of a foot, the drag of a hoof, the slow retreat of water. We walk along the edge, believing we are leaving a mark. But the ocean is patient. It waits for the turn of the moon. It waits for the wind to shift.

There is a rhythm to the shore that does not belong to us. It is a slow, heavy pulse. A horse stands. A man waits. The horizon does not care for the urgency of our days. It only knows the coming and the going. We think we are the travelers, moving through the landscape. Perhaps the landscape is the one moving through us.

What remains when the tide finally comes to claim the path?

Ryszard Wierzbicki has captured this quiet rhythm in his image titled Cha-Am Beach Horse Ride. Does the stillness of the shore speak to you as it does to me?