Seaside

It just lies there sometimes.  Flat and calm as slumbering January.  Sometimes it heaves and shudders and gets assertive.  And sometimes it frolics and splashes like lambs in a paddock.  I've never lived near the sea, just read about it and visited San Diego.  When I was little I read a lot of old books.  Some of these old books had sailors  or people who lived in houses by the sea.  Sarah of Sarah, Plain and Tall misses the sea when she moves West and gets this faraway look in her eyes when she's looking at the waving grain but seeing the waves of the sea.

I'm beginning to see what all those sea people see when they look out their bay windows and watch the waves and scan the beach.

When I run, it's usually parallel to the ocean.  My legs know they're supposed to be running, but really what they want to do is dash down the beach, kick off their shoes and land me straight in the water.  The bigness of the water makes me want to holler and crow and never say another word because there aren't enough.  One of these days I'm going to do it.  Like a planet pulling an asteroid off course, the sea's just going to suck me right off that running trail and straight into its salty cold self.  I don't really know what I'll do once I get there.  I'm no Dana Torres.  I don't even like swimming around without goggles.  I'll probably just splash and wade and twirl and get thoroughly soaked and cold before I trudge my way up the hill to the house and figure out a way to get unsandy without making a mess on the red sinky carpet.