To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling? ~J.R.R. Tolkien
How well you do really know the Sea? The ocean is more than the summer frolic of colorful umbrellas, bathing suits and towels, or earnest adults fishing, running, walking, or watching bronze children digging in the sand. The Sea has a symphony for everyone, every day of the year.
There is a saying in North Carolina that if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute—it will change. The same could be said about the Sea. A never ending panorama of song, the Sea’s perpetual dance with the man in the moon plays to the audience of human eyes as tides ebb and flow, hiding and revealing the icons of life…an intricate shell here, a colorful bit of sea glass there, the solid and stoic lump of mangled iron, the occasional remains of unlucky sea creatures. The relentless rumble of the surf echoes the full cacophony of life crowding the dark depths of the beyond. To watch the sea is to see the hand of the Conductor God in motion.
In winter the Sea is desolate beauty. Heavy dirges of storm clouds chase each other for miles over empty sand and the wide expanse of the waterway to the other side of the world. One can see the edges in tangible contrast; a relentlessly moving line. Part of the fun is trying to guess just the right moment to slip away before receiving an unwanted cold shower. But if one needs to weep, there is no better time to weep than when the Sea weeps, and no better place than her shoulder of sand close enough to hear her heartbeat a capella.
In spring the storms march to a different beat. The energy of the brightening air is invigorating jazz. The updrafts whip enthusiastically, calling for kite flyers to come out and play. Then fickle Sea turns dark blue as the fine crackle of warm humid clouds confront stale dry air, and thunderheads rear, explode, then disappear in a shower of light rain under the freshly-washed-face of the smiling sun and the waters lighten to allegro green. It is no wonder we admire Benjamin Franklin for flying a kite in a thunderstorm.
In summer and fall, the sea is a deceptive thing of pastoral peace and tranquility hiding a possible crescendo of weather desiring its own name being born just over the horizon. Then the ocean truly shows its power even beyond the boundaries of land. But after the passing, the Sea is once again a tempo, our happy go lucky friend. The lullaby of sated waves sooth us in the warmth and safety of the sublime sunny day and we forgive all her atrocities.
Do you know, really know, the Sea?
Come share our Sea with us and learn the secrets of which she sings.