Objective Correlative

When I wade into the ocean the water is only up to my ankles. It explores my feet and tickles my toes. I take another step forward. Up to my knees. I’m shivering now. Another step, then another. Up to my waist. There’s no one else here except me; unless you count seagulls as people – I mentally shush their ecstatic cries. Now I’m cold and there are things moving beneath the water so I reach for my paint-splattered towel but it’s not there. Now the water is pulling me forward, farther and deeper until only my shoulders are above the water – when I fight it it only pulls me harder so I take a deep breath and slowly step back. Another step back. Now the sun warms me and the waves settle. When I’m ready I step forward again, but when the gulls are loud and the water’s cold I step back. Step forward, step back, a perpetual dance on the seashore.