The fishing boats are watching me carefully today, they know the signs. That fancy
house on the cliff does not. It is busy revelling in my fluid expanse through its see-
through walls. Last night, the guests spent hours on the deck aiming empty bottles
into me, lazily wondering if I would swell up to the challenge of drawing them in.
Not like this surfer, dancing on my watery curves. He knows me too well, regretfully.
Last time, swirling to the rhythm of the wind, I pulled him in for a laugh, letting him go
just before the thrill turned into smoke. He is back now, just not playful as before.
Ah, there is the cruise ship, its sauntering movements sizing me up from afar. It will
soon move away, I know, towards a less dramatic route. The naïve vessel. It has no
idea that it is heading straight into rough weather the minute it hits the shore.
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