“To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.” ~ William Blake
“Do you see the surfers out there on the waves?” my sister says, pointing into the distance, the vast white-gray misty horizon stretching into the wide beyond. I squint into the expanse, black dots rising and falling elegantly against the framework of the sky, long rolls of snowy waves that ride low and plaintive over the miles and miles of sandbanks.
The expanse blends so seamlessly into the ocean, so long and so deep – you feel the need fill your lungs with all the air that they can hold, and keep it in for as long as you’re able, yearning to capture the immensity of the coastline. It’s said that the world can be seen in a grain of sand, but the sand here is liquid smooth, silken – perhaps only infinity can felt in this weighted dust of the earth.
And so we walk where the pale sand meets the shallow sea, and dream endlessly. Thinking of the point where the sky touches clouded waves of water, where fathomless depths of ocean carry immeasurable indigo secrets. Here is the misted longing of changing tides, the elusive inexplicable melancholy, a homesickness, a lovesickness. And you let out all the air in your lungs, releasing the ache in your heart to the sweep of the waves and hazy gray of the sky.
To keep dreaming just a little longer: