I miss the ocean, the scent of it, the movements of the waves breathing upon the shore. I miss the blues and greens of the reflective surface mirroring the changing seasons from inky blue-black winter to clear sapphire to the softest cornflower summer.
I miss the rainy frothing autumn currents whipping up a storm. I miss the stillness of blue against blue with only white cottony dots, above and below, sailing on their way. There is nothing a beach or a black cliff can’t make better.
I miss the mooring poles, rusted orangey-red, standing erect on slippery slopes headed to sea. I miss the hexagon light huts with red hats casting longing glances at the starry horizon. I miss beach carnations, pretty Pinks, birthed savagely from stony cavities on barren cliffs.
I miss the sound of the ocean. Roaring forcefully, keening wistfully, or lulling soothingly, while polishing land and thoughts smooth and shiny. There is nothing better than being rocked to sleep by the ocean. Maybe it is the water in me calling to its twin, or the pre-historic aquatic creature longing for its origin. I am left to wonder.
But there is something about the ocean that moves me. Maybe it is time to move with it…to that island I have always been dreaming of…