In the grand tapestry of nature, where the cosmic loom weaves yarns out of stars and ocean beds, swells find their ironic affinity. With every rise and fall, they mock our steadfast concepts of permanence. Ah, the swells, with their amphitheater-like grandeur, laugh silently as they shape coastlines and destinies alike.

You see, the swell does not ask for permission. It doesn't knock before it enters, reshaping the sands of time with a careless grace. In its embrace, one might find solace or a hidden irony—perhaps both are merely figments of a well-earned nap.

Have you ever observed a swell and whispered your secrets to it, hoping they would remain untouched by the sands of irony? If so, you are not alone. Many have done so, only to find their words echoed back through the fissures of a sunset.