Video: 28 December 2020 Slow Motion Wave Crash

Everybody around me seems to constantly be going, going, going. Looking at their phones. Talking non-stop with no pauses or thoughtful reflection. Working on and off the clock. Even sitting at the table or on the couch in the evening, television turned on the big screen and the little hand-held devices powered up…

In The Moment

“I’m writing,” she says in a clipped tone, her fingers barely pausing in their rapid dance across worn-down grey keys. Of course she is. She always is. If she’s not writing, she’s painting, if she’s not painting, she’s sketching, sketching becomes graphic design, graphic design becomes writing… I begin to wonder where I fit into her world.

“What about?”

“You.” Clickety-clickety-click.

“….And…?” my wrist rolls around and around, hoping to conjure more depth. She doesn’t pause.

“You mentioned something last night, got me….” tappedy-tappedy-tap “ me thinking. Not important…” her voice trails off and I know she’s far too deep inside her own head to hear another word.

Still I try again. “I got some great shots of the high tide this afternoon…. the kelp was churning in the waves… maybe,” I soldier on to the drumbeat of rapid key clicks, raise my voice a little, “maybe you’ll come with me tomorrow? I could photograph you with the sun in your hair…”

“mmmhhmm,” she hums, not fully committed.

She’s beautiful. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her that either. It’s only the art, the creating, that matters. It’s all in the beholder’s eyes. Except when it comes to her and me.

“I love you,” I say quietly. The desk lamp makes her hair glow, not as gloriously as in the setting sun, but still…. a strand has loosened itself from her bun and rests on her shoulder, soft as a feather. The moment lengthens as I gaze at her, brow slightly furrowed, chewing her lip, fingers flying, her foot tapping to some internal metronome. I wonder what I said last night. I wonder what she thinks about it. I wonder what she’s writing. I recall the kelp thrown against the rocks, lifeless now in winter, broken to pieces, helpless and at the mercy of the cold relentless waves. The moment had stretched on and on, just like this one.

I turn and walk out of the room, picking up my camera as I pass it. The waves are beckoning. Just before the front door closes, I hear her say distractedly, “…hmm? What was that, babe?”

I wonder what I said as well.

tara caribou | ©2021

Flash fiction inspired by the video.

26 Comments on “Video: 28 December 2020 Slow Motion Wave Crash

  1. the big and the little, i sometimes feel what i say isn’t heard and what i hear isn’t appreciated, by me – i’m as much the perpetrator as the victim and i desire to be neither …

    the moments of clarity seem so fleeting, the moments of anger and resentment jostle to take control, understanding and connection are such treasured and rare qualities.

    if only …

    Liked by 3 people

    • You got it perfectly. I’m the same. Truth be told, perhaps I am both of the people. I strive to make the moments of clarity larger and the resentment/hurt moments smaller and fewer.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. This is a really compelling piece of flash fiction. The characters could be doing anything but the story, the interaction, is so relatable. Well done

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A beautifully composed piece which, to me, speaks of the love affair one has with oneself which veers from admiration to loathing on the choice of a word.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Wonderful piece of writing, tara. Great imagery and sentiment. I fear sometimes that I too am going, going, going, losing the small moments because I’m just focused on the next thing. Something to work on this year!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I love watching the sea. Years ago, I was station at Fort Ord, Ca. for three years. In the late hours. Just drink some beers with friends and watch the sea dance. Paradise. Wonderful words and video shared dear Tara.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. this is all too common an experience in most lives today. you expressed the humanity behind the vacancy of disconnect lost to tech. it sadly happens to the best of us, eh? nice write, tara. plus, i enjoyed reading one of your flash fiction pieces for the first time.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you Jay. I describe myself as a storyteller who sometimes writes poetry. The stories are more where my heart is. If you want more short fic, you can check out my “flash fiction” or “explorations” categories, should you be interested 😌

      Liked by 2 people

art & writings by emje

original artwork and the occasional rant

The Peddler

Art Consignments in Ninilchik, Alaska

The Pegasus Fiasco

Apologies for my apologies


Poetry by Charles Joseph

Rum and Robots

We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive

Robert Charboneau.

Writer and Artist

living document

a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind

Anonymously Hal

Poetry, Photography, and Thoughts


The Lies in the Skies Exposed

Writer In Retrospect

"When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am..." --Maya Angelou

The Tigress Awakens

Welcome to my tiny corner of the universe filled with poems that I have written.


Author | Freelance Writer | Blogger



Better Letters

Butterwell's Blog

%d bloggers like this: