Bridgewater Bay is rarely still. Wind moves through it like a restless thought, shaping the water, tugging at the किन edges of land and patience alike. At low tide, the sea loosens its grip and reveals those green-streaked paths—slick with life, quiet and inviting—where I often walk, tracing the coastline step by step, as if the earth itself had briefly exhaled.
But the calm is a borrowed thing.
The tide returns not gently, but with intent. What lies open is swiftly claimed again, the seabed vanishing beneath a rising skin of water that gives little warning and less mercy. Those same paths, so walkable moments before, dissolve into currents that pull and unsettle. Each year, the bay reminds us—too sharply—that beauty here is edged with risk, that the line between passage and peril is measured not in distance, but in time.
DJ mini Pro4
Linking Water H2O Thursday
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