Chiaroscuro And Cats

I see his shadow as he walks around the house, playing in the sunshine pouring through the open windows. He throws diffused light from his sandy fur, alternately brightening and darkening the ivory walls and honeyed hardwood floor. His footsteps, inaudible in the grass and sand of the outdoors, ring out here, reminding of his presence with a comforting rhythm. He knows just when to jump up next to me for a gentle smoothing of his fur, just how to turn so I will pet him at just the right angle, and how to bite gently enough so that I know he is not truly angry. He watches the sunrise each morning, and always greets me cheerfully with a chirp I am always pleasantly surprised to hear. He purrs for no reason: well, for no reason other than that he is perfectly content. He needs only food, water, space to hunt, and human interaction…anything else is wonderful and extraneous. A true minimalist, he can amuse himself with nothing more than light and the quiet noise of his own movement. Perhaps, though, he perceives more than I, myself, do: perhaps he sees further than the light show to the heart of not just this chiaroscuro, but to the heart of chiaroscuro, the true nature of light and shadow. And yet, how can a simple cat see to the heart of shadow and light? Perhaps, then, it is merely my imagination, placing human traits into the actions of a friendly, familiar cat, comforting myself in my lonely nature by granting him, in my mind, a nature similar to my own. As his head bumps my hand, though, I am reminded of a simple fact. As I gently scratch behind his ears and he stretches luxuriously, I remind him, “You are, indeed, still a cat, capable of anything a cat is capable of: but I am not sure of everything a cat is capable of, and therefore must continue to wonder.”

 A purr is my only response. 

Drives

(This was a prototype, so to speak, of a new way of finding inspiration and honing my writing skills. Just so you know.) 

I thought at first he bribed me with the food. He would take me on long drives to the city and take me to exotic restaurants, foreign cafes. Sometimes, it was just cheap fast food, but usually whatever he could afford. I used to think that he bribed me with the food until one day I realized: it wasn’t these far-off places that excited him. He wanted to show me the drive, he wanted to share it with me. As soon as I realized this, but more importantly, as soon as he knew that I had realized it, he began taking me on just drives. We would pack up sack lunches and go to the country for a change. It was different from the city air: it was lighter, and more free. The sky was bigger, and on those rare occasions when we went out at night, we would stare up at the stars, and they would shine brighter, and fill up more of the sky. They would be more filling, somehow, than those small, distant planets we would see in the city at night. Sometimes we drove through the trees, and in the early spring, we watched the trees bloom. The leaves were at first like a green mist on the brown branches, but not even a week passed before they had grown. Now, when we drove through these backroads, it was almost like looking through a green cathedral, the branches and new leaves forming beautiful gothic arched naves. We would see everything for what it was: the stars, the trees, the birds, the sky, and the clouds. For us, it was enough. 

Paper and Ink

(Try reading this one while listening to 'Gone So Long' by Breathe Carolina.) 

Empty coffee cups, pads of paper bleeding my ink. Stories swirl around me, pulled by the gravity of my imagination. Take what you will, and take what you need: I have enough for everyone. What you see is a smile, and what lurks beneath the surface of my thoughts is a river, wide and deep, strong enough to drown you, gentle enough to refresh you. Skin like eggshells, so delicate and beautiful, protected by the armor no one sees. Read my lips, guess my mind. Blankets and warm fires, strong sunlight and warm water, I will keep you content and give you a place to grow. Gently, I spread my wings and feel the ripples around me, life like drops of water in a lake. Stories are all around us, new and beautiful. Words live within us, powerful and nurturing. Some cannot see, some close their eyes, and others leave what they cannot understand for the closeness of their own worlds. Strong hands shall cradle your dreams, saving them like fireflies in beautiful mosaic jars. Leaving the nest, forgetting the rest, passing the test: strive for my understanding. Close your eyes and breathe in, feel the black and white march across the white waters of the world. Breathe out, and spread your paper wings across the calico skies. Maybe you will shrink away, afraid of the vast emptiness beyond your comprehension. Maybe you will fill it with your ideas, words, stories, drawings, and all your creations. But maybe, just maybe, as you look out to the void, you will understand that there must always be a small corner, an escape from the bustling of today and the rustling of paper, that can never be filled. Curl up, and go to sleep here, with open hands and a peaceful mind. Come out when you are ready, and begin again. 

On the Wing

Soundtrack: On The Wing by Owl City

Wide-eyed, feel the slow rhythm pulse in time with your breathing. In, out, in, out, as deep as the tide and as wide as your soul. Deep blue, beating heart. Oceans fill you with the waves, even as you walked on the paved roads of the city’s center. Walk in the woods, smell the pines around you. Walk, run, and then glide over the fallen leaves, the wood loam, the sea foam, the firm and soft sands, the asphalt, the colored glass. Stand apart, look over the balcony and see beyond. Neon dreams and flashing signs neither distract nor detract, not so far down under the surface. Curl up in your apartment bed, and wake to find yourself in the mountains. Follow the soft, swelling tide all the way to the center of yourself. Reach out and stretch, never lose your starry gaze as you see past the mass of humanity that neither adds nor takes away, but simply is. Rise up, and feel the sky scrape your back as you fly. No, not fly: that is no way to describe this. You float over the earth, neither judge nor creator, but simply a watcher. See every vein in every leaf, every grain of sand, every drop in the ocean, every pane of stained glass, and yet, still take in the forest, the beach, the great, seething sea, and the cathedrals standing as sentinels against the night. The pearls that shine in the sea, deep in their protected shells, have nothing against you. They wait, watch against their time. They know they will one day leave, to grace the old arcades and grand old avenues. So too the gems in the mountains, hidden and sleeping. Float above all this, do not take part, until you are as a star in the sky to the people watching below. The words that will never echo from your mouth again sound forth in the deepest tiers of your soul. “Are you there?” Once again, become aware of the rhythm and pull of the sea, the oceans, and the moon. “Are you there?” Breathe in the sand, the pine needles, the stones of the mountains, the grains of the beach, the feathers of all the birds, the clouds in the sky, and the water on the face of the Earth. It is enough. “Or are you just a decoy dream, in my head?”

It is enough. 

She Has A Way With Words

“She has a way with words.”

She cast her spells as casually as she threw aside her cloak in the springtime, weaving intricate stories where there was no visible loom. Like ripples in a pond, her words and feats of mouth spread, reaching everyone in her small worlds and beyond. Count her as a friend, and you will never die. Make her your enemy, and she shall smite you down with power you never knew could be housed in her stately frame. And yet, most only see the effects of her words, the symptoms of her greatness. They never know, never will find out what really transpires, behind the scenes as it were, in her mind. They hear her words and look to her lips: a wonderful, lucky few see her stories play out behind their eyelids, and then look to her mind. She is free. She is a princess in her tower, a passenger on a mysterious ship, a warrior resting before battle, a weary soul laying down to rest, a young girl finding love, a star in the endless night sky. If only there was a lens through which you could see her lives, her stories, her imagination, you would never take it off, never leave her side. Her words, her words! They worry and tease, they sting and bite, they soothe and heal, they rip and tear, they rise and fall with the cadence of her every mood. If only there was a way to share intimately this great mind, to touch thoughts, to let her fill you, make you overflow with the wonderful things she has to show! In comparison, you feel your own words fall flat. Nonetheless, you must try and that statement that emerges becomes such a complement, and yet, it is hard to ignore how small and inconsequential it is before the great sky of her stories.

“She has a way with words.” 

Viewpoints

Let the city fill you up, let it overwhelm you. You can drown in the noise, burn yourself with the movements, and immerse your mind in the rhythms, take your pictures and then follow me out to the desert. Breathe in the smell of the creosote after the afternoon rain, feel your heart beat even faster as you race above the sand on two to four wheels, and laugh with delight as you find a relic of Indian life. Come down to the valley, nestled in the shade of pine and pecan trees, and sip on sweet tea as you watch alfalfa ripple like water in the wind. Hear the guitars strum and soft voices harmonize against a blazing sunset, and later, take a walk under a sky overflowing with stars. You may go back to your city, with its mindless rhythms and thoughtless days, but remember how you felt here in the desert you may prefer your city, but I belong to the desert. 

Dancing With Strangers

Stepping out of the carriage, I take a moment to stare at this grand palace, but only a moment. It would not be seemly to appear late, or to hold up the next arriving guest. I sweep up the stairs, and find my way through the palace to the grand hall, already filled with wonderful music and dancing couples. The footmen announce my arrival as soon as the song is over, and everyone takes a moment to bow to me, the guest of honor, as I carefully make my way over to the dance floor. Every young man my age is expected to take a dance with me, and I am soon swinging from arm to arm, dancing gracefully, sweeping around the room in my beautiful ball gown, seemingly made of leaves and vines. The great crystal chandelier floats above us in a sky made of gold and pink clouds. Everything here is perfect, and the music is simply grand. It is easy to dance to such tunes, my body easily swaying and molding to the shapes the sounds dictate to me. How beautiful this evening is, surrounded by friends, meeting beautiful strangers, and taking part in the festivities. But yet, something seems to flicker at the edges of my vision. Something is changing, something important. For a while, I cannot remember, but then, I glance at the ceiling. It is changing. The wonder sky painted upon it is fading, is changing. No longer the marvelous colors of the sunset sky, it is fading into greys and dark blues. As soon as I realize this, everything else starts to change as well. The guests take their leave, and fade into the air. The footmen announce the next song, but all I hear is a light breeze, rustling through the trees. I stand, and slowly turn, surveying my new surroundings. I am merely standing in an orchard, the dead leaves rustling under my feet. The sun has just set, and in the twilight, I can see my plain brown and green dress. Maybe I was never in a ballroom, maybe I never danced with those people, and maybe I never heard that glorious music: but in my mind, I hold those memories, memories of a dance that had never truly happened. 

Stardust in September

Look at us, falling through the galaxy. Take me away with you, I don’t know where…but I know you do. Come on, dance through the leaves in this memorable September. We’ll have to part, but not now. I try to find you, but all I can hear is you singing me along:

“I may be lost, but you’re not found

Where our wings scrape the sky

But our feet stay on the ground”

Dive deep, into crystalline caverns filled with sharp angles and soft lighting. Walk on the surface, still thousands of miles from earth, kicking up dust and leaving footprints that never fade. Float above it all, lounge among the sounds of the stars, find yourself in the sky, and lose yourself once again on the journey back home. We’re back here, and as I hesitantly push open your door, I see that you are the one that needs me to take your hand and lead you back to the starry heights that I know you forgot. And gently, oh so gently, I cradle your cracked porcelain heart in my hands and slowly, oh so slowly, bleed for you. One day we’ll be okay, I swear to myself. We’ll leave it behind and watch the stars, and laugh to each other just to hear the sound of our joy. When we get there, I’ll let you know, and before anyone can take the next step, look back. Old pains make new contentment into something you can never let go. We’ll find ourselves in the memories that we had forgotten, plastering old photos of ourselves on the wall, like an extra layer of skin thick enough to absorb it all. Let our structures fall apart. Take off your shoes, and remember what old leaves and fragments of paper feel like on the soles of your feet, on your soul. Breathe in the rain, and walk on the old train rails, through hometowns we have forgotten. But the stars never fade, not like we do. When you remember yourself, let me know, and we can smile shyly at each other as our old routines are revived. You’ll lead me again, up to the old attic that I had sealed off until today. Pick up that old box, blow the dust off, and let the stars out to play around us again. Our hands meet, and we dance again, just like we used to, before I packed our stars in that box, before you forgot how to walk barefoot in September. 

Once Again

Sometimes, I am surprised by refinement and elegance. Unexpected notes, leaking out of a classroom, forming beautiful music that you cannot name. It is unique, an experience to remember. A door, opened in front of you and held open, ready for you to walk through, without having to interrupt your rhythm. These moments, like kisses in your memory, make for a life as sweet as honey and as warm as sunlight. Meeting someone’s gaze, and holding a smile for just a second. Never forget these memories that glow and that grow, maybe turning into stories along the wayside of your lifetime. Remember all the Septembers, all the glorious autumn mists that dissolve, all the leaves that fall. Will you remember them in days gone by? Will you experience them in days to come? There are no questions that have no answers. There are no mirrors that will not give a reflection. It is the person or manner that asks, and the object desiring to see itself, that might demand an answer, an image, and receive nothing in return. Give yourself up to the polite society, and then realize how hard it is to fit in with the common and mundane once again. Once you have tasted wine, it is hard to return to water. 

Leave Them Be

Live is lived on the edge, the edge of a razor, the edge of the world. Bold and brave at heart, you will live and be rewarded for your bravery. Though many others here tread the same path right now, yours is marked different because of the paths you have taken and the other paths you are taking. Courage is your heart pounding, yet slipping in among the wolves and the lions and slyly stealing their knowledge from under their noses. Hold your head up high, make them turn aside. Meet their eyes and watch them turn away from the fire in yours. They cannot match you, because they are small, and will never know the chalice that you drink from. They tell you the sky is the limit: you know that the stars are your friends. They tell you give it all you have, little imagining that their receptacle is far too small to hold a fraction of what you contain. Spread your wings and leave them behind, these ants, these people who will never know greatness. Each in their own way is precious and unique, but you are cut from a different cloth. To compare between them and yourself is to compare trees and skyscrapers, albeit in a glorious vice versa. They will never know the glories of your imagination, which allows you in turn to wonder at their highly prized mundaneness. Leave them be, for it is not your place to show them theirs. It is your place to glow quietly, a great flame hidden among the ashes and the embers. 

Seasons Pass

Cherry blossoms falling down

Rainclouds look upon the ground

I will stay with you today

Far too soon you’ll go away

Chlorine kisses on my skin

Days like this I never win

All our faults don’t count as sins

Not to kith and not to kin

August Sundays ever sweet

Bringing back my memories

When will you return to me

As I wait so patiently

City glowing far behind

Angels dancing in my mind

Wings of white with starry eyes

They see right through my lies. 

Mental Release

Now the rust is out of the pipes, I'll try to write more. 
(P.S: I've been having trouble with my laptop so I have to use a different computer and it messes with my mind.)

Imagine, all the time. Make it loud, make it real. Turn the volume up and get lost in your sound. Sakura rainclouds, drifting on by. Reality doesn’t stand a chance, and that’s the way it should be. Fingers flowing across bowstrings, book pages, typewriter keys, paper. Write your story and leave it behind. Me comes easier than be, if you know what I mean. Heartbeats haunt you, turning into Heart Beasts that chase down the songs you love. White and black, strict lines and the lines become easier to comprehend when you draw them yourself. Take it away and show what always was underneath your skin. Show the raw talent and the perfected product, show the things you know you can do better at, but don’t know how. Take the people that stay, kiss their cheeks, and let them go. It’s the critics you need to win over. Change isn’t easy, but it needs to happen. Let them go and let then grow. Golden leaves flowing in the green breeze, a zephyr of thought blowing everything else away. Storms roll on and leave memories of their silver linings, echoes of their golden noises. Watch the instruments and fade in, fade out as you dance across the keys, a perfect miniature. Listen to the voices change. Don’t look behind, and don’t get stuck down on earth. Dancing angels across my screen, and I see red through the black, with stars scattering every which way. Windows open, and can’t be seen through. When fresh and new meets old and wise, one will learn and one will break. Surprise, surprise, you will never know which one. Yellow and orange, take it away and leave my mind for a while. All these lines, as if they are drawn across my skin, give me peace, give me rest from my restless thoughts. Now take them, and go, repeat these ideas you don’t understand, because that is how you will realize why they were written. 

The Night Breakers

It’s time for the sparks in our hearts to come out. The night is dark, but we laugh anyway, threading our way through the trees and the dark fields, hiding from cars and any people who might be roaming the night. Heavy backpacks lift us up, since we know what is in them. We reach the right field and frantically begin unloading our spectacular burden. From a rooftop barely visible in the darkening night, a flare lights up. A return flare is fired, and then everything is dark. We come together, shake hands and go to our stations. No words are needed or welcome in this sacred darkness. Suddenly, each of us holds a flame, a small catalyst for the great event to come. As we kneel down and fumble in the twilight, our breaths catch in our throat, and we each pray silently that this gamble will pay off. Sparks begin to fly, hisses break through the blanket of silence, and we all grab our empty packs and run. As explosions break out behind us and the sky is set on fire, we forget our mute taboo and begin to whoop and cheer. Eerie shrieks and brilliant explosions give us company. Sirens explode into life around this previously abandoned farm and how fast you can run is the line between scot free and juvenile record, but we don’t care. We reach the safe house where those who were too scared to try fell behind, and we all climb up to the roof to enjoy the effects of slow-burning fuses and as many fireworks as we could get our hands on. Fists are bumped, and grins are shared freely, as teenage rebellion gone right rips the peaceful night apart. When the show is over, we all climb off the roof and share one last glance before parting. We all have futures, and not all of those will be shared with each other, but the present and the immediate past is something that will always be remembered, a story that we will to all of our children. 

You're Not Listening

Black and white, sepia tones, a straight hair standing out from the mess. Make it so, make it so. All alone, but you’ve never looked away from the mirror. Look away, see me standing here. I’m always here, but your reflection is in front of me. Years of building up resistance, a wall of sound, guarding against the silence. My arms are open, waiting for you. Here I am. My love, my life, I’m here, just look up and see: pause the music, and hear me. You can break through if you try, but my words don’t make it. I’ve already gone as far as I can: why do you not see? All you need to do is reach out and find me, find everyone waiting to help you. I’ve left everything for you, left family, friends, and dreams, to give everything to find and keep you. I’m waiting! I’m here! Please! Just turn around, turn away from the mirror, and I will do the rest. Listen to my whispers, and one day, you will see. One day, you will look away, and fall once again into my arms.

Come Back: I'm Here

No apologies, no explanations. I've almost given up, but selflessness is slowly finding its way to me. I'm here now, so forget this past. Forget I was almost gone. I'm here now. I can help you, now that I have forgotten myself. I will come back to you, away from the false lights and self-centered screen. I'm here. I'm home, and I can't make promises, but I never want to leave again. Please, come back, to our little home under the tree. We left the black space and the chandelier together, and you eventually left after seeing the husk I had become. I'm full now, and ready for you. Come back. I will call you until you turn and see at least one of these bread crumbs through the forest. Come back. I'm here. 

Stay Alive

Meet this midnight world, a big city with small lights cowering from the acetone sky. Houses shut their eyes tight, wishing on a car, cars that turn and fall away behind you. A sky-scraper city turns into a high-rise factory, studded with stars. Little yellow lights make it seem friendlier, and fires burn high in the dark, making safety feel closer. White strips on the road peel away from the tires, lighting up to make a fairy trail to follow. Leave in circles, and find yourself in the same place that you started, but not afraid. The clocks bleed the hours away, quietly singing in the softest way. Brown and green, fading away without any resistance. The bleached moon tucks you away, lulling you into sleep that you deserve. Don’t be afraid, don’t be sharp or cruel or loud. Gentle, quiet, the day giving over to the dusk, softly and lovingly. This chlorine town will leave along with your sleep, in a world that is shallow, in a world that came clean. 

Cream and Gold

Fuzzy blue lights dance across the screen, and I want to dance, too, but instead I get up and walk away. I have more important things to do, things that might set me free. My mirror is my door and as reflection meets me, we shyly say hi before merging into a world that isn’t quite here, isn’t quite there. I want to dance under the sun, watch the desert sky explode into sunset. With the stars in your eyes and the wind in your hair, you are just like me. London fog under the streetlights is the best thing that ever happened to us, and when I see your smile, I smile too, for the first time in forever. We’ll live off of streetlight and reflections, and stolen moments whispering though your door. Play hide and seek, and I will hide in the twilight moments beyond your dreams, and seek you in the sunrise. Fences guide us like old forest trails that have been petrified like the trees, and we can find freedom here. It makes me feel safe, running away with you. We find things to do in our spare time, like breaking all barriers. I think I love you. You know things I thought only I knew, and you make me feel safe, loved, and cozy on rainy days. Numbers line up for us and dance, and here we go, diving into our dreams again. Blue shirts and white pants, barefoot dreams are food for us. Diving into the sea is a little too wet for my taste, but you draw me in and show me how to swim like I never have before. I do love you. I think I will tell you, and word bubbles in the ocean are far too appropriate. Then, the unthinkable happens. I hear the words, see your word bubble. “I love you, too.” We are free here, in the ocean. We found freedom, made it in the cream and rose colored moments that I love, and gilded them for all our lives. We love each other. 

Changes in Quiet

I’m curious. Fascinated, in fact. How does it work? What does this button do? Melt it all down and try to purify it, see what happens. Paint the sky with indigo, and a color I can’t describe, somewhere between a gentle pink and a lavender and plain brown. I’ve always wanted to see a new color, experience delighted confusion over something new, something I’ve never seen before. Wait for me on the side of the road, I’ll come down when I come around the mountain when I come. You think it’s a mistake, don’t you? But look closer and a song forms, unbidden, in your mind, a fun, joyful song. Is it really unbidden? It’s not, right? I called it there. You didn’t know I could do that, but I’m still getting used to change, to strange new things. Young dreams in old hearts, that’s what magic is made of. Old souls are rare, but young souls are incredible. Exploding with color, flavor, delight, laughter over something silly and odd. Peacock feathers in a green setting, lining the wall, carpeting the floor. Do you think I’m silly and odd? If not, please feel free to fill out a form enclosing your final frivolities. Old poems in new ears, a new song by an old voice. Yes, Shenandoah, life really is old here. If you think it’s plaid and boring and unattractive, I won’t be offended, but I’ll have to change my perspective of you. Glasses frame laugh lines, stretching out like an unsuspected diamond. Pretty and playful, fast and deep, some words clash without my meaning to. I didn’t give them permission, but they don’t need it, and they know that. Something new isn’t as exciting as I thought it would be. Oh, trust me, it is exciting, but it’s also solemn and quiet and gradually grows on your awareness, not so fast as to be alarming, but when you can finally focus on it, it’s not new at all, just not old. 

Shatter Me

More fanart! I couldn't help it! And this is the best music video I've ever seen! 

Watch the gears spin, watch the cogs move the arms of the clock that ticks away the rest of my life. I want to break away, but I can’t just shatter the things that make me: I don’t know what will happen. There has to be a way, a way that I can escape this clockwork circus. All the other dolls, all the other acrobats and musicians, they aren’t real, and they aren’t good company, either. Where can I go? Where is the light? I need escape! Dash against the glass tent walls, shatter me! I’m stuck here! Someone has to find me and let me go! Fly away from the audience that watches me with marbles for eyes. It is cold, and I feel empty. But I can’t just give up; that’s not what I was made for. Take me away, let me be, let me live far away! I can’t stand it anymore! I’ll forget the consequences when they come, and dive through the swarm into the cool, silent mirror of the real world. I can’t live here, and a cage is no safe place for a bird. There are just too many cats around here. Clockwork body, let me go. I can’t stay with your forever. Everything is peaceful, though, isn’t it? Maybe that’s why I don’t fit in. I am wild, I am fire, I am a tempest that will break and shatter this frail glass into millions of pieces! You cannot keep a wildfire in a glass jar without exploding. But if that is true…why am I kept here? I told you to let me go! Fire shall burn those who dare to try and bend its will! Perhaps fire will not set me free, then. I must find what will! Strong as stone, but that is no match for iron. As free as water, but even water can be held against its will. I think I might know, now. I remember the dance that my clockwork self was programed to, and rise on my toes. Lifting my arms above my head, I will perform this ballet, and then, unleash the power in my fragile, porcelain chest. Finally, I know. One cannot keep wind in a jar, just like one cannot trap a summer breeze. Sound will break this prison, and sound is what I have. Pure, crystalline notes of nothing but harmony come from me, and I see the walls start to tremble. Jericho fell to the trumpet, and this prison is nothing compared to my voice. I can see the cracks, now: my world is shattering! 

Master of Tides

This song captivated me. It's called "Master of Tides," by stunning violinist Lindsey Stirling. 

And here's my own kind of fanart for it. 

As the wave rolls in, breathe with me. Copy my movements, and this dance shall begin. Bold, dramatic gestures with your arms, and with your feet, draw on the sand, wild exaggerated lines and swirls, call the tide in with me. Emphasize the freedom of the sea, and be free with me! Come, now we break away, and each dance on our own, almost fighting, almost kissing, lovely, strange, wild, free as the sea. Finally, stand still. The tide has not been called yet. There is more to do here. Close your eyes and exhale as, for once in its years, the sea is calm as glass. Then inhale and slowly gaze out, across the deep, and spring into motion once more. Quickly, draw on the sand with your dance, until the picture starts to emerge. Now, let us stop, watch the tide rise as the sirens call and the sailors dance to our own tune. It is me against you, now. Who will win the favor of the sea? Float free, and I shall complete the next move of your dance until you finally figure out how to dance on your own. Oh, this is truly the start. Leap high, clap your hands, we will never stop. Bend low, spring back, call imperiously for a halt that you don’t need and know will never come. Hands behind your back, what are you hiding from me? First tiptoe on one foot, then twirl to the other. Bend and bow, catch your arm in mine, and circle each other, hands locked, until I count three and we dance away once again, only to reengage this charming battle. Swing your arms, sailor, and I shall dance with the grace of the kelp fronds. Try to bend with the current, and I am as strong as the polar ice caps. Feel the wooden planks beneath you, and I am the sea, carrying you away. Dance with the waves, and I am the wind, sweeping along above you. We are friends too close to be companions: we are enemies, dancing for the favor of the sea, and only one of us can win. You may keep her warm and ice free for most of the time, but it is I, not you, who call the tides. My friend, the sun, you are warm and forgiving, but I am the moon, and the sea will follow me. The sea has no choice, but to follow me: for I am the Master of Tides.