The Ocean

It’s big and deep and the sound goes on and on. It’s rolling and surging and it’s a million shades of blue. The sand is warm beneath my feet and prickly with shells of all shapes and sizes. The water surges to my ankles as I hunt the shore for shells. The sun beats hot on my back and the water is pleasantly cool. And the sounds go on and on. They are impossible to record with a pen and paper. There is the low hum of the surf and the higher pitched splash of the waves as they come in on the shore. It’s an endless music without a timebase. It’s rolling and eternal. It goes on. I gather shells on the beach, piling my finds in a well in the sand. At home I will rinse them and horde my sea-treasures in a glass well on my window sill, but for now I am content to soak in the sun and the sand and the waves. I breathe it all in, absorb it through the open pores of my skin, the scent of the ocean - its salt and brine - clinging to my face in a fine mist. It’s dewy, the breeze whipping the hair off my face and across my eyes. My face stings with the spray and the sand and salt. All my senses are engaged - the taste of the ocean is on my tongue.