Winter surf at Point Lobos

The wave explodes. Its unformed fingers seek the sky.
The sudden white veil falls, as mist and spray rain on the hard dark rock beneath.
Hissing, the wave returns to the sea, to be replaced by another... and another... and another.
Sometimes larger, sometimes smaller.... always tumultuous, wild, free.

I know well another set of waves - lifelong companions that course within my veins.
Sometimes faster, sometimes slower.... always there, rhythmic, reassuring.
This measured beat defines my mortal existence —
but my soul envies
the tumultuous, wild freedom
........of surf.