Creative Writing Description of a Place - the Ocean

A Place

I love to stand before the majestic view of the ocean. Ocean waters exude power; yet still serve as a connector of nations. Here, at the waters edge, peace can be found in the midst of a chaotic world.

Looking forward the waters seem endless. One might be able to imagine that at the very edge of the horizon there is nothing, only the place where the sun, moon, and stars hide until they make their glorious debut. Winds blow persistently, gaining momentum as they skip across the waves, disregarding obstacles in its pathway. The winds carry the scents of the ocean; the pungent salty air causes some discomfort at first. It stings the eyes and nose, and despite this still possesses an invigorating and cleansing property that is unequaled. Tiny grains of sand act as sandpaper on bare feet. The waters roar as they churn, deafening ears to any sound but that of itself, and rush up to tickle little toes. It is here, at the waters edge, that one can lose themselves completely to everything except that moment. Perhaps I could leave my burdens here and watch them sail away on these powerful waters to the end of the sky.

Embrace now these rejuvenating moments, and watch, as the waters of the ocean mirror the emotions of Mother Nature. They can reflect a warm, golden glow that sparkles and shimmers, or they can mirror a cold, steely rage that is terrifying and nonetheless magnificent. Among these elements, a hypnotic dance of nature reveals itself. The dancing waters that reflect the emotions of the sky, the power that no one person can control and the embrace of the winds transport me to a place that can only be described as wonderful.

Something brushes up against my feet and it interrupts the trance that I was succumbing to. I look down to see a small rag doll. With yellow colored yarn for hair and a weathered blue dress, you can tell this doll has been through the elements. Dirty, ragged, and weary cloths are the defining characteristics of this doll, except for the little pink mouth that is hauntingly turned upwards in a smile.

That small smile laughs at me; for I do not understand how the doll has withstood the roughness it has faced in the churning ocean waters. The doll has not only survived but emerged with a smile. Why then can I not be like this doll? What I would give to be unrelenting to the torment that swirls around my life, to surpass the roughness