Thursday, March 14, 2013


I wish I were a poet, a writer. I wish I could capture the beauty, the strength, the life, the movement, of the ocean.

Sometimes it's turquoise, and you can see all the way down to the ocean floor. Just peer right over the boat and count the fish.

Sometimes it's white, and glassy, like a mirror, almost. And the failing sunlight and the just appearing moonlight reflect off it in the most beautiful way. You really can't imagine.

When it's light blue, or glassy, or turquoise, the water is happy, safe, calm, gentle. You wouldn't know you ride on the Powerful Ocean if your hand weren't absent-mindedly playing with the water, if it didn't stretch as far as the eye could see, if the smell of wind and salt and sea weren't in the air and your hair and all over, if the gentle swaying of the boat doesn't make you succumb to the most comforting and relaxing sleep. You can honestly almost forget. Almost.


Sometimes it's a deep blue, so deep and beautiful and rolling that you kind of want to jump in and roll along with it. When it's like that, I just know it wants to take me somewhere. And I wish I could abandon my days (or let's face it weeks/years) plan, and roll along with it-right out to the open sea.

Sometimes it's a deep purple, black in spots. That's when I know it's's brewing. You can't see into it all. I feel foolish and small for choosing to bother it on those days. It is not friendly, or relaxing. It is menacing and powerful, like a cobra waiting to strike. I know that during the short part of our ride while we are not safely protected in the harbor of the islands, we will ride a little slower, our faces will crease a little in worry.

And then, sometimes.
Sometimes it's that deep purple, mostly black color on the underneath part. And it looks like the water is boiling, because it is bubbling and churning and rising up and crashing down with little white waves all along the surface of the ocean. And that's when you clench your teeth, and strain your hands against the side of the boat. And you don't care that the boat paint is chipping off all over your hands, there's no way you are letting go. You remind yourself not to counterbalance the rocks of the boat, the boat will correct itself. But when it rocks to the right, and you start to slide that way, it's all you can do to keep from demanding everyone rush to the left. You arrive in town soaked, grim, tense....smiling. You feel like the boy from Count of Monte Cristo, almost wish you had screamed a "do your worst" to the Ocean. You feel awed and small and relieved....surprised even, you'd forgotten the ride could be like that.

I have ridden the same trek countless times, and it is always different. Who knew there were so many blues in the world? Who knew there were so many moods of the ocean?

I feel very lucky. I wasn't someone who dreamed of the Pacific, who honestly, had ever imagined living on a small tropical island. But I do. And my absolute favorite part of my life, is any time I get to take a boat across the majestic and mighty and serene and beautiful and menacing and powerful ocean. I am turning into a seaman.


1 comment:

  1. You are a poet, with a special gift. (Love all your posts!) GNancy