Rhythm: patterned movement re-occurring at regular or irregular intervals.
The Atlantic had ebbed, just as the tables foretold, and temporarily undressed the tall shore from its mantle of water and silt. Now free to be seen, massive slabs of rock strangely clothed in layers of tangerine earth and shrouded by a flimsy coat of snowy powder leapt perpendicularly out of the pebbly beach. Near their apexes an unkempt plumage of evergreens hung askew, clinging to migrant topsoil wondrously blown over with westerly winds. Closer to the coarse and dark sand at the bottom, the motley-shaped pillars revealed painfully rough striations, as if receding cold waters had left hurtful algae and other nameless creatures to wound and tear away at their uneasy foundations. Standing at the cliff’s edge Jon and I were the only audience to the semi-diurnal ritual which the low tide performed that morning at Alma. On a summer day the Bay of Fundy would have drawn thousands of spectators peering at the lunar-driven aqueous fluctuations from behind their digital viewfinders, but on that grey December day the cold blowing snow had kept even the park warden close to his warm hearth.
Bay of Fundy tides consist of 100 billion tonnes of seawater ebbing and flooding twice daily, spanning up to 50 feet in height. They are the mightiest in the world. Despite all their natural strength, their potential for energy generation remained largely untapped. Cupping my hands and blowing warm breath in them I recalled a few off-gridders who would have gladly put them to work. But, alas, tides were entirely unexploited by Canadian off-gridders; too much infrastructure, too many regulations, too many headaches stood in the way. And yet, the regular rhythm tides kept struck a familiar chord with off-gridders and the two of us alike. Here one minute, gone the next. Back at it again, and away they went one more time.