Last night I dreamed of a great wave. Of having been in the front yard of house with about a dozen other people aware of possible bad weather coming, a storm of some kind, but the air was calm rather. The sky rather watery looking pink pearl, orangish, bluish with a hint of green in the southeast but not unusual. The day is unusual in its clarity, as if water glistens on every surface: skin, grass, clothing. Despite the weather watch, I decided to go walk west along the great pier front, beyond where these houses shelter in the safety of a cliff overhang.
The pier front is a series of mostly iron fastened wood, stretching across a bay. It is closely packed with businesses, balconies and shops built close to the shore. Farther, the piers curve back to the left were ladders, scaffolding-like with steps built up to yet another high pier where if you climbed up you could see much farther out. It all seemed safe and okay to do so, and feel on top of the world, cool though untouched by a breeze.
One person I knew from the gathering in front of the house had wandered out there too, following me maybe. Probably. As calm and peaceful as it still looked, a sherbet sky of peach, raspberry and lime, just in the next moment, a call went out as if over a broadcasting system: there was an incoming wave, a tsunami. And then I could feel it, and I paused in that eternal second you know if you’ve ever been in a tornado or something. Just before it strikes, before you can see it sometimes, particularly with a tornado: there is a dead calm, but you can almost feel yourself lifting. It is terrifying, and if you’ve ever felt it once, you never forget it because it’s no joke. Continue reading “Last Night I Dreamed #WaterIsLife”