xigekey
515 posts
Jul 29, 2025
10:49 PM
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The hold generally results, but it never returns the same. Twice each day, it techniques in and out like a breath, significant over the shore with a flow avove the age of language. It variations the stones, the mud, the sources of the mangroves, only to retreat and come again. But because it moves, it requires bits of the planet with it — cereals of sand, items of shell, fragments of storage — carrying them out to the areas we can't see.
We watch the tide rise and drop and imagine that individuals realize it, it is a simple trade between sea and shore. But what we see is the surface. Beneath the water, the tide drags entire sides with it. It brings at the roots of underwater woods, it sweeps over hidden canyons, it whispers through the crashes of vessels and the bones of issues that never caused it to be home. It's been going similar to this since long before we stood at the side of the sea, and it'll carry on Planet after we are gone.
Every wave is a memory. It carries with it the dirt of faded hills, the ash of old shoots, the pollen of plants that bloomed one thousand years ago. It recalls the fun of children playing at the shoreline, the weight of storms that have drowned cities, the sounds of sailors who cried out for help as their boats were drawn under. But it generally does not inform these stories aloud. It holds them shut, flip them deeper into the water each time it retreats.
The tides are shaped by the moon — that soft wanderer over people that's never touched our planet, however controls the edge of each ocean. The moon pulls the water toward it as it groups the world, and the water obeys, climbing and slipping with a persistence we can't fathom. It is not a crazy order, but a quiet tether, a memory that also the largest seas are bound to something beyond themselves. And for the reason that pull lies a storage also: the storage of a world without us, a world however young and molten, when the tides were also tougher since the moon was closer, taking tougher at the oceans.
We stand at the edge of the sea and think the wave is predictable. We build harbors and cities and walls, as if its beat is ours to master. Nevertheless the tide hasn't truly belonged to us. It does not take care of our calendars or our ports. It'll wait provided that it must, because it has recently waited more than we are able to comprehend. It'll go back to state what we construct, exactly the same way it said the footprints of those who stood on the shore before us.
Sometimes, when the breeze is low and the water is calm, you are able to hear the hold speaking — perhaps not in phrases, in the hush of foam on mud, in the smooth crackle of sodium and stone. Its voice is quiet, however not empty. It's a speech that knows a lot to shout. It's seen forests drain beneath their fat and deserts blossom where oceans once lay. It's removed entire coastlines using its slow patience. It's held techniques in its depths that'll never be unearthed.
And however, for several its silence, the hold gives. It forms the entire world as much as it requires from it. It produces vitamins to the shores, bottles numerous creatures, carves out estuaries and marshlands where new living can thrive. The tide is a sculptor, removing rock and reshaping beaches one air at a time. Without it, the oceans could stagnate, the coasts would wither, and the world could grow still.
We are attracted to the tide, though we rarely realize why. Kids pursuit it as it retreats, then flee as it rushes straight back in. People stay at the side of the ocean for hours, hearing, seeing, feeling anything mix in them they cannot name. There's anything eternal in the tide's beat, something which talks to the part of us that recalls we originated in water extended ago. Perhaps we are not so distinctive from the grains of sand it carries. Perhaps we, also, are destined to be swept out, to become section of something vaster than ourselves.
Nevertheless the hold does not rush. It movements at its own velocity, never hurried, never uncertain. Even if storms rise and waves crash with the fury of the sky, the tide is regular beneath it all. It understands that the turmoil may disappear, that the winds will tire, and it it's still there, carrying the world quietly in one destination for a Another.
We address the ocean as though it is split from people, like its increase and fall is something to anxiety or control. But the truth is that we are destined to it as tightly since it is likely to the moon. Their rounds are our cycles. Their memory is our memory. And once we dismiss it, we overlook a part of ourselves.
The hold is increasing higher now. Glaciers burn in to its body, warming currents swell, and shorelines are pulled farther inland than we've ever known. Some call this change a catastrophe, nevertheless the hold does not call it any such thing at all. It is only returning that which was always their own. We see catastrophe; the hold considers only continuity.
There will come a day once the hold may move over the destroys of our cities. It'll cradle the bones of bridges and the structures of systems only because it cradled coral reefs and shipwrecks before. It'll work glass and material into sand, scatter our monuments into pieces therefore small they will be moved to distant shores, unrecognizable. And extended from then on, the tide it's still going, however holding the memory of the entire world we created, however flip it deeper in to the water with each breath.
The hold does not want us. It doesn't need our agreement, our fear, our gratitude. It simply movements because it must. It is more than our language, older than our gods, older compared to the planet we know now. It recalls every earth that came before, and it will remember the worlds that come after.
We shall never know all so it carries. We are able to only stay at the shore, have the take at our legs, and know that people are element of something we will never truly understand.
The tides won't reveal their secrets.
We should learn to listen to their stop
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