Strato-cumulus summer morning, wind from the south west, close to zero swell, mid-sky moon neither north nor south, small shoreline waves smacking onto the sand where they throw airy bubbles in white foam first ashore, then also back out to sea, the bubbles spreading gradually larger until they’re somewhat cloud-like along the shoreline line. Eventually though the airy bubbles disperse, the whiteness dissolves into the shallow water clear and green, just before another wave throws itself ashore and the whole scene is again repeated. And in these moments of water meeting earth we see the way that air erupts between their meeting, and then is carried on the surface of the water for a moment, before the air once again leaves, no longer contained in tiny bubbled skin, but free to disperse (until, of course, it’s trapped again by another wave, making airy caverns, caves, as it falls again to earth). The water then carries the air on the ocean shoreline. While above, in all the strato-cumulus light-grey cloudy blanketing, the air…it carries water. Air in water. Water in air. 

Then often, as the day warms, clouds disperse, much the same as the air disperses between waves.

The ocean-sky mirror is clear today. The ruffled underbelly of strato-cumulus winging in from the west with cooler wind in their sales, grey and rippled. The ocean surface overbelly below, from shoreline green through to a slowly-deepened blue, an equally-ruppled and riffled rushing and falling of little mounds and troughs, never still, changing though your eyes my settle on place. The rounded churning is not enough for a wave to break except where they fall to earth and rise to air at shoreline arrivals. Same as the clouds are not enough to break into rain, or the wind strong enough to fold over any temporary summits into foam when they rise. The ocean sky mirror is clear today, mild in its middling, the shoreline organism living, breathing, lawful.