Standing just behind the oyster-catchers - why should I be concerned of the incoming tide?
Bright orange beaks tucked into the thick of their back, reddish eyes poking out of the dark brown feathers just above turned necks, they rest, in utter confidence, that they will not be swept out to sea by the splashing on the rocks just before them, or by a rogue wave come to swallow them.
Even while the drops of white, churned up seas splash readily and thunderously just inches around them, they sit in postures of ease and restoration. How is it that they don’t flutter away in fear to safer grounds? How is it that they don’t show any sign of agitation at the roar of crashing wave? Even as I stand here, five meters behind them, my heart pounds deeper and quicker with the break of the waves on the rocks.
They are attuned. They have evolved to live here, on the edge, watching the tides rise and fall, waiting for the revelation of their foods, that which lies await, attached to the undersides of the intertidal rocks. They know, deep in the bodies, the rhythm of the ocean, the dance of the sun and moon, the six hour inhales and exhales that create the clock of their lives, their timetable telling them when to rest and when to forage. Their lives are a testament to these cycles. Their dance is a translation of celestial movement, of Gaia’s frequencies.
May I be so attuned to these rhythms. May I be such a beautiful translation of Creation. May I be so perfectly evolved in my Self and in my Place, that I can live without fear of that which laps at my feet; that I can live at the intertidal frontier, knowing full well, in my body, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.