“Ebb stung by the flow, and flow stung by the ebb” – Walt Whitman’s words rang over and over in my ears as I stared at the ocean. Some lines bury themselves for years or decades but seem to work their way up and break back through the surface again. And when it happens, it adorns me with its initial mystery. Like when the words first crossed over my lips. And I couldn’t stop reading his song aloud. Feasting on something with more flavor than I could apprehend. And now, still stung by the ebb and the flow. Shocked by that old lure, once cast and forgotten, jumping again. Electric.