Day Sixty-Nine · Waiting for the Next Tide

In the early morning, I go to the seaside, and the tide has receded very far.
The rocks are exposed, with tiny shells crawling on them. Seaweed hangs over the stones, damp and wet, like it just cried. The ripples left on the sand are in circles, like tree rings.
I stand on the shore, feeling that the sea has changed. The usually blue water has now retreated to the horizon, revealing large patches of gray-brown mudflat.
It feels a bit unfamiliar.
But I know, the tide will come back. Every day. It just pulls back to rest for a while, and when the moon calls it, it rushes back with a roar. Not today, but tomorrow. Not tomorrow, but the day after. It never lies.
During low tide, it’s like the tide is retreating.
The numbers on the account shrink, the water recedes, revealing the rocks and mudflat you don’t want to see. You feel the market has changed, your money has been taken away, and you think you can never go back.
But do you know? The tide will come back. It’s not gone, just temporarily retreating to a place you can’t see. When the wind comes, when the moon calls, it will rush back faster than when it receded.
A friend asks: Are you so sure?
I say: I am sure. Just like I am sure the sun will rise tomorrow, sure that spring flowers will bloom, sure that the tide will return. It’s not blind faith, it’s experience. For thousands of years, the tide has never broken its promise.
There’s a line of white on the horizon — the tide has started to turn back. Very slow, very quiet, but you can feel it approaching. #Gate广场四月发帖挑战