Waves roll, crest, and gather again. Over and over. For miles and miles.
Spurred by currents deep within and wind from the top, the ocean appears to breath. Or is it a great, invisible beast attempting to swim to shore?
In contrast to the welcoming shore of sand in my previous post — when the Pacific meets the Baja in this area, it does not whisper a greeting. Here it pounds on the door with one fist on a fine day and throws its shoulder into the door during a storm.
Can you see beauty in the power? Wonder at the vast expanse? How far due West to the next spot of land?
