Spindrift

Whistling breeze provokes each wave. With each subtle fin flap, with each motion above or beneath the waves, all between sand and sea coordinate its encompassing dance around her, yet never so oppressing to entrap. It's where she ought to be, where she loves to be.

It doesn't matter the shore, or the waters, or the rages of sea; it tempers her, allowing her to in all places she holds as dear as the ocean holds her. When she's beneath, above, below, beside those water, she knows where she needs to be, when everything feels so right that she could never be led astray. When she parts with it on the mainland, oh how those very waters cling with her, making her feel at home for as long as they can as only a slick sheen on her scales.

The mainland is unique to her, there being so many parts, each shore she knows having a glory matching their coast. Even if there's errands to be done, she still gets sent in circles wandering and wandering, finding similarities between each harbor and their sea and how bits are carried over as one draws deeper and deeper, into land and away from sea. The similarities slough off eventually, leaving a big bundle of difference at the end compared to the start, yet she always finds what remains the same throughout, beckoning to her like a scratch behind the ear.

Come time, she follows, led by a trail of sight, smell, and sound. Not lost, no, she could never be, even if the rock turns to strands of green rooted in dirt mush, no she's never lost, as sky turns from clear day to starry night. The breeze finds her, never mattering where she is let it be a cave, forest, or even its very skies. There's trust between them, their meetings so frequent yet not too often that either would be ready to set down what they're doing and let it be forgotten to follow each other along. They sway round each other, snickering and laughing, finding baubles, places, experiences. At the end of it all, when they've finally had their fun, she looks left, she looks right, finding herself back at sea, even if crashing into a different shore. She thanks the breeze for keeping her company all the while and she's thanked back, finding herself walking home, sauntering through the shoreline as she reaches the waves. Without staggering, without wavering, under the shield of night or with the company of day, her head reaches under and she kicks off. Ready for the sea.