Thank God I brought my laptop

morning in April....

The ocean is blue now. It is the dry, pure blue of no humidity, that sparkles in the sunlight, the rich cobalt blue of every story that ever mentioned the deep blue sea. Line after line of wet white waves curl and cascade upon the shore. The pristine sand, blown and battered smooth by the endless waves and untouched by footprints extends a mile to either side of where I stand on this deck with the startlingly crisp, clear east wind tearing tightly at my hair and collar. This sky is not the aenemic atmospheric aspect of summer but dense and brilliant, reflected from the bright blue of the ocean, so true-blue that if you could scratch it with your fingernail it would not show white underneath like an antique glass Christmas ornament but be blue all the way through. In the sharp white laser-light of the morning sun everything looks pure and unspoilt, the railing of this deck, the dunes pricked with dead evergreen branches, the grey beach grass and the sand beyond, the white rollies of the shorebreak, and the ocean, all of the ocean, from here to Portugal, a breathtakingly beautiful blue that shall be lost to indistinct greenish-grey as the spring wanes and the season warms. But it shall not be forgotten by me.

The ocean is waiting.

...