Watching the ocean roll into shore and back out teaches us about patience. Its steady drone can become monotonous after a time, after the intoxicating spell begins to wane. It becomes steady repetition, which still relaxes me after the day in, day out routine of the unexpected.
This recurrence of the waves smooths jagged pieces of shell and rounds off driftwood, or smooths rocks. It all takes time. One wave at a time. They work at night while we sleep, and when no one is watching. I look back at writing I have completed and understand the concept of steady progress, not binge writing. A storm batters and destroys, but the everyday steadiness of the tides turns rough treasures of the sea into polished works of art, in its due time.