I love the sea. There’s
something comforting in the constancy without stillness. One of those supremely
simple things that stirs us and reflects a new mixture to our eyes.
It’s such a wonderful blend,
the gently sliding waves that thin and creep like the softest hands, or a cool
sheet to cover you on a hot summer night.
The cresting power of a
crashing wave as it smashes against you; that oldest of customs where two
friends playfully strike each other to show their strength, and confidence in
you, that you can bear such blows.
But whether gently gliding or
roaring and crashing, that’s only the surface. Dive under and it all smoothes
out into a gentle surge and passing, cycles.
Underneath the sun’s light
traces like webbing, shaking and coursing, like veins. And those calm nights
when a starry sky is mirrored, a sea of stars, as they say.
The few blinking lights of
light houses, distant horns.
During the day it’s like a
great picnic on the field, with all the sailboats skimming this way and that
way. But at night, there’s the lone lance cutting through the dark water.
Although underneath it doesn’t seem dark, just murky.
