Irene swung by here the other day. She overstayed her welcome and had enough spit and vinegar in her to make us respectful. Amid the branches and cannonball leaves shooting across the lawns, there was the wind and the sea and I don't use the term "among" lightly. A hundred yards from the tide wasn't far enough to keep from being glazed in salt water and, those foolish enough to go take a close look, had a slick coating of salt for our trouble.
Some sailing stories talk about big storms and that the air above the water seems to turn into some sort of vaporous mix, neither air nor water but...well..."wairter" for want of a better term. I'm pretty much of the opinion that the sea is doing its wave thing, the air is doing its blowing thing, and there - just over the top or at the bottom depending on your perspective - is where the action is...where air and water talk to each other.
Logic makes us believe that water doesn't really talk with wind any more than a rock converses with a tree. But what of this logic? In a conversation with a grand daughter we decided that full moons are merely folks gathered in the sky at night to look at the fireflies down here and that stars weren't stars at all but merely fireflies who flew too high, got lonely, and "flashed" so their friends could find them. Absolutely without logic and as they say about our politicians, "the truth isn't in 'em".
But these dreams, these illogical potentials, are actually compelling bits of fancy. We would, in fact, be better off if we put aside the fact that they weren't real or possible but simply pleasant imaginaries that 1. do no harm and 2. produce some terrific realizations ...