Because a wave is not a thing. It is a gesture. A message passed from air to water to land and back again. It dies not to end, but to travel. Each retreat is a promise. Each silence is a gathering.
And then it does.
Watch closely. The next one is already on its way. Because a wave is not a thing
Then the water hesitates. It pulls back, hissing through the gravel, dragging shells and secrets into its dark hold. The beach is clean. The slate is wiped. hissing through the gravel