Monday, March 17, 2014

Of the Sea and the Ocean

Imagine a small fishing village by the ocean.

Lighthouses and tides, sand in the streets, spray in the air. Boats that go out on the sea, fishermen and whale watchers and the Coast Guard. Storms and wind and rain that stings faces. Salty lips and hair that's wet with spray.

Piers and harbors, bays and coves. Little creeks running out of the forest and across the sand into the ocean. Sea shells. Beachcombers. Mussels and oysters, clams and crabs.

Breakers that crash like thunder, wind that cries like a foghorn. Stones rattling against each other, pushed and pulled by the riptide. Waves murmuring as they rush back from the beach.

Tourists and summer jobs, bandanas over salt and sun-bleached hair, short dresses, tans, and sand sticking to toes. Winter storms, gore-tex pants and coats with hoods.

Legends and buried treasure. Driftwood and shipwrecks.

Whales and seals and sea lions that bark instead of roar. Fish and sea anemones, starfish and hermit crabs.

Old men and old women, young men and young women, and the sea.