The white surf surfaced as his board's fins pushed down against the rapid waves. He loved the sound Shhhhhwwwshhhh , James Joyce knew how to write a wave, as well as he knew how to ride one. It was reading that wave word in Ulysses that made him want to surf. He thought a lot about words when he had no need for them here on the waves. A conversation he'd had with his mother when he was thirteen suddenly made sense. He could see it from her point of view now. She wasn't trying to get at him just to help him see where those thoughts would lead. Another wave of peace passed over his mind and his breath fell in sync with the rise and fall of the water. He stretched his eyes across the horizon and took in the expanse of purple clouds and the gentle blue of a sky yawning in to early evening. Shhhhwwwwwsssshhhhoooo.