A proper commitment to waves would be to sit with them for a thousand years, saying nothing. Most of us couldn't help putting language over them, though, as if the best we can do at a high moment is speak of it.
I was busy at that earlier, imagining a man (a musician with a Three Dog Night haircut--this was 1974) who with $5,000 from his novelty record ("Getting Sedimental Over You") built a cottage on the Scarborough bluffs, knowing bluff-all about how to do it, as he admitted when he came back from tour and found half the cottage tipped to bits and the other half declared UNSTABLE by the City of Toronto.
But he'd been warned, I went on to imagine. He'd sat down by the waves one time and claimed he wanted to "breathe like them and heave like them" and "surrender his body" like they do. He saw how they roughed up whatever they could get to but insisted he'd like to "set you in a safe place and scare you" as they do.
Well, good luck to me with the rest of it. For now, this side of a thousand years, here's thirty-nine seconds of lake Ontario:
[couldn't upload my mpeg--think breathing and heaving]
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