The sea is stirred up. The lower comes up. The upper sinks into the depths. A ship can be seen in the distance. The waves carry mostly spray. The white crowns are quickly passed on. No one wants to keep them permanently. Nobody wants to be out there now. The surf comes at the beach with full force. It is no longer recognisable. The undertow pulls everything into the sea. The ship is no longer visible. The roar continues to increase. The mouth opens without a voice. The question is in the eyes. They search the horizon.
A coat lies on the beach. The black shines velvety in the sun. She has already dried it. The storm has moved on. It is eerily quiet over the sea. The water a blue silent plain. Another black coat in the sand. Just the coat. Similar to the first. The sun warms as we walk. The traces of the storm disappear as they dry. Life will soon leave new prints here. Two, three, four more coats can be seen. There are more on closer inspection. The mouth opens.