Despite all the extraneous distractions, the waves catch my attention. They are not quite as vehement as the waves I’ve seen in California or on Cape Cod, but they are captivating nonetheless. They stand out from the muddy sand and squealing children and even from the sun beating relentlessly on my back because of their hypnotic, rhythmic repetition.
Although some waves are more powerful than others, crashing down with a here-I-am force, they are soon replaced by their gentler kin. These more subtle waves almost seem to not need or want the attention I am bestowing upon them. They seem to know their purpose and fulfill it with humble and dutiful dignity. The opposition between the peaceful and belligerent waves is intriguing, but not unexpected. The larger ones are almost overpowering, arriving with a bigger woosh than the others. But why would they need that power? Are they insecure control freaks, or simply commanding and dominant?
Though they do have their differences, all of the waves are similar at the core. They start with a lucid quality, smooth and clear. But then, they break upon the sand, evaporating into white, foamy nothingness, sucked back into the lake from which they came.