de l'encre au bout des doigts

There’s an ocean, over there… you remember standing over a cliff, alone, feeling so small between the sky and the water, it’s color beaming to an even deeper blue – how many shades can there be — the water was sometimes black with hurling white foam and other days of such turquoise it called mermaids to existence ; the sky was pale or royal blue, with joyous white spots of clouds or menacing and dark shadows, it let the sun shine over to the horizon or darted violent rain toward the earth and the sea.
You stood or sat on the wild flowers that survived the harsh salty environment that you’d come to love so much. It was easy to feel invisible and insignificant, it was easy to imagine that this world was yours.
It is, always, easy to imagine that anything is possible…
Wave compete with the wind that tears your worries away, your eyes cry because they’re filled with utter breathtaking beauty and because they need to fend of the elements.
The tears are not because you’re sad.

You’ve let go of your thoughts and daily worries, of your questions and regrets, you think not of the road ahead. Things here are obvious and simple, it is impossible to be afraid, it is impossible not to embrace the roads taken and to come.

The ocean is dancing, always, even when the sailors curse the absence of wind, it remains a shining, tantalizing and living wonder… There is water over your eyes, your heart, your self.

The scenery is simple, the place isn’t special in the sense that it is no one’s dreams but yours to go there, it is the reunion of some rocks and earth, a few trees along the steep trail to the top, some daisies and heather… The cliff in itself isn’t extraordinary, it is easy to vanquish your fear of heights and stay at the very edge.

It there that we meet.
There is something beautiful in the idea of water over my soul.