night when the sea roars

When I was little, my grandfather walked down the stairs slowly from the room next door, late at night. I was listening to the sound of the door rattling, half asleep in my futon (Japanese bed).
After a while, the door opened again and he returned to his bedroom.

That was my fisherman grandfather's daily routine.

When it was summer and winter, and even a rainy day, every night he went out to the sea, which was the bathroom for him.
The tide of that sea that he was was seeing, still repeats ebbs and flows.