Symbiosis

It is a low tide today, my

feet dig into packed sand.

Seaweed dark and brown,

long and stringy. Seashells

few and one broken sand

dollar. And just past the

Lifeguard Station a jetty, all

sharp rocks and long out into

the ocean. The same jetty

that saved me over forty

years ago in a riptide. You

grow up knowing about

riptides but you never think

think one will happen to you.

Till it scrapes up your legs

and leaves you frightened

of waves. My toes now wet

as I walk into the beginnings

of waves, only ankle deep.

Always cold, the Pacific

invites surfers even at 8 in

the morning, perhaps best

at 8 in the morning. I stop

and watch the surfers watch

the waves. Sit on their boards

and wait for the right moment,

there is something otherworldly

about their knowing. And to my

left I see a white crane, watching

like me. I sense our silent

companionship. Our witnessing,

the symbiosis of surfer and nature,

of woman and bird. Speaking

without words. And when a big

waves barrels our way, he takes

flight, toward the north. And I

make my way home. And as

I’m rinsing off my feet I see a

sign, recommendations for

surviving a riptide. Number 3,

if you can’t escape, stay calm

and float. Don’t fight, just

move with the rhythm of the

water and I’m thinking of the

crane and his stoic watching,

his knowing.