Pigeon Island

As I sit here on pigeon island, the reef on the beach making my ass sore, I experience the feeling of being just blank. Just watching the sea passively and moving back each time the sea reclaims its territory from me, wetting my feet in the process. Absorbing the bubbling sound of the water as the waves pull it from between the rocks, before another wave comes crashing back with a fierce vengeance. The water hits the broken reef on the beach and and splashes, spraying on me, right through the leaves of the tree I’m perched under; holding my cap to keep it from flying off of my head. The bubbling, crashing, washing and the spray of the water become music together. A song with ever-changing meaning despite the same lyrics each time; in a repreat loop fashion. An orchestra led by the maestro herself, the beats; bubbling, crashing on the reef and washing and trickling off the rocks, all an obedient servant.
Bubbling
Crashing
Spraying
Making the sea… sing!