She took to the car, and with the essential scarf around her neck and the mournfully optimistic tones of  Mumford and Sons playing on her stereo, she was soon off, off in a flurry of restlessness and a desire for water and for self-perpetuating movement. She arrived at the lake not a moment too soon, and in the waning sunlight gingerly crept out onto the break wall - not for fear, but to relish each step as it took her out further into the harbor.

Suddenly there they were, her dear friends - the waves. The wind was strong, and she was immersed in their roar, a cacophony of raw sound. Truth be told, she could not put to words exactly why she returned here, week after week, only to commune with these transient water formations. Only her heart knew for sure, and as of yet was not letting her in on its classified information, but only silently rejoiced in the waves' company as it witnessed their rise and fall. This was pure motion at its finest - these strange shapes that seemingly came from nothing, and disappeared into themselves just as mysteriously. She was transfixed by the waters as each wave rolled over onto itself, eventually breaking down into leaping globes of liquid that became smaller and smaller, until finally they returned to lay dormant below the surface until the next opportune moment.

Perhaps it was the sheer miracle of it all, the artistry created by the convergence of the unseen wind with the most pliable canvas available, as though Mystery itself had sprouted hands and was now allowed to slap and shape the water as it pleased.

She kept walking and peered at where lake met sky, which was not its usual straight seam, but was knobbed and rippled by the blasting winds that raked across its plane. As she gazed, she let her mind drift out to the edge of the horizon, knowing that, like the water, it would eventually be thrown back at her feet, dashing itself frantically against the jagged boulders and rocks that made up the break wall's foundation, evaporating into mist and blown away by the wind in a flash. She was happy to allow it to run its course as many times as necessary - she needed no real thoughts, no new insights, only needed enough presence of mind to place one foot in front of the other onto the cold concrete until, at last, she reached the end of the wall, which may as well have been the end of the world tonight.

The waves were especially playful this evening, and cheerfully crashed about at her feet. Occasionally the spray rose high enough to kiss her cheek, which she did not shy away from, despite the unusual chill in the air, but she instead accepted the gesture with gracious thankfulness. She stood still, allowing herself to be buffeted by the wind, willing it to blow through her, to rout the deepest stagnation of her soul, the shallowest troubles, any clinging deception that might have been taking root unawares, the dust of inactivity that may have settled in those hard-to-reach places.

Ahead of her was nothing but the roiling water, and the sun as it slipped lower and lower in the sky. Its golden rays finally emerged from its hiding place behind the cold clouds, dazzling no one but her and the few seagulls who lazily hung in suspension above the waves, not caring that these precious jewels were perhaps all but wasted for the evening. Her eyes lapped up the liquid drops as though they were nectar, and watched as the sky and clouds were transformed by the receding daylight, one last hurrah before the day took its deep, dark sigh of nighttime. Not wanting to be left out, the waves reached up towards the sunset and were soon stained by gold, crimson, magenta, and deep violet. They rolled onward, petitioning over and over for safe passage into the harbor, requests which were unrelentingly denied by the stolid wall. As the sun neared its destination each wave seemed to be illuminated from beneath, as though some type of luminescent fish were swimming just below the surface.

Behind her was the quickly darkening shore, with its inhabitants snugly inside their respective dwellings. She had all but forgotten it until now, and even then only gave it a passing glance. She would not be persuaded home by all the conveniences, electric illumination, short-order nourishment, or familiar connections contained by the land, but rather, listened for her heart to give the final signal.

Finally, the gentle nudge came. It was time.

Her hands were nearly numb, even though they were hidden deep in her pockets. Her legs and feet had also stiffened in the cool air. No matter - they would warm soon enough.
She took one last, long drink of the lake-scape, reeled her mind back in from its short sojourn in the waters, and collected a calmer, more serene version of herself before walking briskly back to the car. There would be no music played on the return trip. She would not dream of forcing any more outside stimulation on her already satiated soul. Once again, the waves had been enough, would be more than enough. As she drove homewards, she cast the occasional longing look in the direction of the lake, and even though the rest of the countryside began to slow and settle into the night, she felt inexplicably revived. She concluded that no clear analysis would be made from this fact, but simply that she had been briefly broken from the illusion of self-perpetuated movement, and that she, like the waves, could just as joyfully abandon herself to be moved and shaped by the gusts and whispers of those unseen and eternal winds that swirled in constant movement over the waters of her life.

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