High wind at Point Lobos
Seas run against each other, seethe among the rocks, pour back, rush in again, burst high, merge water with the last that flung itself against the piled headland, then drain down, wind flogged, relinquish all their force against the next white roiling swells that shove their surges on, tops shredded by the hoarse sea wind. Far out on rocks just heaved above the wild plunge of water, sea lions lie in comfort on the still, unyielding stone. It stands like someone calm in tumult. We ask what cohesion can hold firm, alone, unmoved, what stay of facts, tranquillity set in this wind-churned, water muscled sea.