on the ocean

So, before a week ago, I'd never been to the ocean. I knew I wanted to, but I didn't know what I was missing.

I loved everything about it, including its (very cold) temperature. I loved the sound. It is a soothing one to be sure. I can imagine myself falling to sleep listening to it. I even liked the smell, or at least didn't mind it. It doesn't smell salty. Or even so strongly of fish as I worried.

I loved walking in the sand and leaving footprints that would only last until the next high tide. I loved standing on the rocks and watching the waves smash into them and spray upward. I loved looking at the bits of shells and trash and other oddments that washed up on the tide.

I have still not swum in the ocean, I hope to do that at some point. I think I'm afraid of it though. I'm not a terribly strong swimmer (I nearly drowned in the wave pool at Water World when I was 14), but I've spend a lot of time in pools and lakes and rivers, so I'm sure I'd do okay.

Years ago, I had a dream of the ocean. It was a pleasant one. I don't recall it in full and I certainly cannot transfer what little I remember onto this page. There was a sense of peace. And rightness. And the same feeling returned as Liam and I walked to the jetty and kissed. I could hear and smell and see the ocean. In that moment, everything was okay.