Oceanic
2002 05 30
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I miss the smell of salty sea air sometimes. The early grey of a dawn by the ocean, and even the screaming of the gulls overhead, is very comforting, very soothing. I miss the sound of waves as they wash back and forth over the sand, over each other, over and over, seemingly endless. The tinkling bells of boat masts, the distinctive clop as you walk along a wooden wharf, the curling fronds of seaweed, and sandcastles built, and rebuilt, like dreams.
"They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains the hottest blood of all." D. H. Lawrence