High-pitched gull calls came out of no where, lost in the salty fog. I stood in the grayness, the sea and sky blending so there was no horizon.
I love the ocean on a clear day, stretching far as my eye can see, but I’m not really here for the view. I stand on the beach, now all rounded stones. Flies swarm around piles of seaweed, buzz up around my face for a minute, and then I’m away from them.
The waves roar-crash followed by the clatter rumble of rocks shifting, then the hiss and quiet of the foam sliding back along the stones again. I close my eyes to listen and soak in the rhythm of the waves, the rolling push pull push pull. Roar-crash, rumble, hiss. Roar-crash, rumble, hiss. I breathe in deeply. Breathe out.
I come in the summer for the beach—long days of sun and sand and salty breezes, but it’s not just about the beach. I miss the salt air and the afternoon breezes. I miss the changing colors and moods of the water. I miss the ocean’s energy. I grew up with this energy, flowing around me, running through my veins. I don’t live with ocean everyday any more, and I need a dose of it sometimes to refuel, re-balance, reset.