The noise has been there for so long. You do not hear it anymore. There is no longer silence. The noise becomes the silence. All that surrounds you, all that is inside you is the crashing of the waves. One after another after another, smashing themselves against the shore.
The following moment, nothing. No sound, not even the fresh bursts of the bubbles in the sand. Total blackness. Perfect dark. You do not feel the transitions from swell to silence. The waves became a stream of your consciousness. The same way you cannot tell at what point one thought morphed into another, the surges segue completely into nothingness.
The wind shifts imperceptibly. It switches from the sea to the land and from the land towards the sea with barely a whisper. It is only when you rise with the sun and the fishermen and the hungry birds when you see the flip and discern the moment when all is still. In that instance that seems to take an eternity, the palms do not rustle, and the breeze seems to stop thoughtfully and slowly turn around.