A single ripple rolls in low and breaks white on the wet sand. The afternoon light rests on it at a slant, so the water's surface glitters like fine wrinkles, and the sand is soaked a deep brown. The waves are not big. At a height that would not even pass the knee, they break, disappear, and come again.
Watch that scene long enough and your eyes lose their focus on their own. As the water pushes in, the shoulders drop a little, and as it draws back, the fingertips loosen. The soles of the feet quietly press the ground without your noticing. The body needs no explanation to follow the rhythm.
On a busy day, breathing usually shortens from rushing toward the next thing. You breathe out before you have breathed in, and while breathing out you are already counting the next task. The ripples carry no such rush.
By a window or at a desk, lower your eyes halfway, breathe in as much as one wave comes in and breathe out as much as it draws back. Three times is enough. Even without stretching it out, what if you matched just one at a time?
The same counting works inside an elevator. While the floor numbers change one by one, breathe in once, and as the doors close, try breathing out slowly. It is fine to take a quick look at how the back of your neck is doing then. All you need to notice is whether that short stretch running from the shoulders up to the back of the head is stiff and locked, or loose enough for the head to sway a little.
The ripples are still rolling in, preparing the next line.
