You say ocean. You say rock and you say tree. You point to these things, and the birds flying or diving in the surf; you make their cries. Your face shows worthy amazement, brilliant recognition.
You are the things you name.
You reach your arm, your hand stretching, effort to connect; the rock and ocean reach out by the reflected rays of the setting winter sun. The tree reaches out by its branching shadow, the wave by its spume and thunder. You are breathing them in, speaking the names breathing out. The waves speak your name as they break apart upon the worn stones of your coast.
Tonight the sea mist will come in and blanket you while you sleep.