xigekey
473 posts
Jul 29, 2025
10:55 PM
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The tide always returns, but it never earnings the same. Twice daily, it movements in and out like a Air, sweeping across the shore with a beat avove the age of language. It touches the rocks, the sand, the sources of the mangroves, and then retire and come again. But because it moves, it requires pieces of the planet with it — grains of mud, items of cover, fragments of storage — carrying them out to the places we can't see.
We watch the wave rise and fall and imagine that individuals realize it, that it's a simple change between ocean and shore. But what we see is the surface. Beneath the water, the tide drags whole sides with it. It draws at the roots of marine forests, it sweeps around concealed canyons, it whispers through the crashes of vessels and the bones of things that never caused it to be home. It's been moving such as this since well before we stood at the edge of the sea, and it will carry on long following we're gone.
Every hold is just a memory. It bears with it the dust of vanished hills, the ash of ancient shoots, the pollen of plants that bloomed a lot of years ago. It recalls the laughter of young ones playing at the shoreline, the fat of storms that have drowned cities, the comments of sailors who cried out for support as their ships were pulled under. But it does not tell these experiences aloud. It holds them shut, folding them greater to the water everytime it retreats.
The tides are shaped by the moon — that pale wanderer above us that's never moved the earth, yet regulates the edge of every ocean. The moon pulls the water toward it as it groups the planet, and the water obeys, growing and falling with a persistence we cannot fathom. It's not just a violent order, but a peaceful tether, a reminder that also the largest seas are bound to something beyond themselves. And in that draw lies a storage also: the memory of some sort of without us, a global however young and molten, once the tides were even tougher because the moon was closer, taking harder at the oceans.
We stay at the edge of the ocean and believe the wave is predictable. We build harbors and cities and surfaces, as though its flow is mine to master. But the wave has never truly belonged to us. It does not look after our calendars or our ports. It'll wait so long as it should, since it has recently waited more than we could comprehend. It will go back to maintain what we build, exactly the same way it claimed the footprints of those who stood on the shore before us.
Occasionally, once the wind is reduced and the water is relaxed, you can hear the wave speaking — perhaps not in words, but in the hush of foam on sand, in the soft crackle of salt and stone. Their voice is calm, but not empty. It is a voice that knows a lot to shout. It has seen forests sink beneath its weight and deserts bloom where oceans when lay. It has deleted entire coastlines with its gradual patience. It has presented strategies in its depths that will never be unearthed.
And however, for many its stop, the wave gives. It styles the entire world around it requires from it. It gives vitamins to the shores, bottles numerous creatures, carves out estuaries and marshlands where new living may thrive. The hold is just a sculptor, smoothing rock and reshaping shores one air at a time. Without it, the oceans might stagnate, the coasts might decline, and the world would develop still.
We are drawn to the tide, however we rarely understand why. Kids chase it since it retreats, then flee as it rushes back in. People stay at the side of the ocean for hours, hearing, watching, sensation anything wake inside them they can't name. There's something timeless in the tide's rhythm, a thing that talks to the portion people that remembers we originated in water Planet ago. Probably we're not too different from the grains of mud it carries. Probably we, also, are meant to be swept away, to become part of anything vaster than ourselves.
However the tide doesn't rush. It movements at its velocity, never hurried, never uncertain. Even if storms increase and waves accident with the fury of the atmosphere, the hold is continuous beneath it all. It knows that the turmoil may diminish, that the winds can tire, and it will still be there, holding the world silently from one destination for a Another.
We address the ocean as although it is split up from people, like their rise and drop is anything to concern or control. But the fact remains that individuals are destined to it as tightly as it is likely to the moon. Their cycles are our cycles. Their storage is our memory. And once we ignore it, we overlook an integral part of ourselves.
The wave is climbing larger now. Glaciers burn in to its body, warming currents enlarge, and shorelines are pulled further inland than we have ever known. Some contact this change a tragedy, however the hold doesn't call it any such thing at all. It is only returning that which was always its own. We see disaster; the wave sees only continuity.
There may come a day once the tide may throw on the ruins of our cities. It'll cradle the bones of links and the frames of towers only since it cradled coral reefs and shipwrecks before. It will work glass and material into sand, spread our monuments into parts therefore small they'll be moved to remote shores, unrecognizable. And long after that, the tide will still be going, still carrying the storage of the planet we developed, however flip it greater in to the water with each breath.
The hold does not require us. It does not require our acceptance, our fear, our gratitude. It really moves since it must. It is older than our language, over the age of our gods, older compared to planet we know now. It remembers every earth that came before, and it will remember the sides that come after.
We shall never know all so it carries. We could only stay at the shore, feel the draw at our feet, and know that we are element of something we shall never truly understand.
The tides won't inform us their secrets.
We should learn to listen to their stop
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