John Masefield eloquently wrote about the sea.

The “grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking”.

The “call of the running tide”.

The “flung spray” and “blown spume” and “sea-gulls crying”.

The “wind like a whetted knife”.

I love the sea.  It’s smell.  It’s sound.  It’s soul.

I love the sea.  From Buffalo and Lake Erie to Michigan City and Lake Michigan to Varna, Bulgaria and the Black Sea where we currently reside.  God has always placed me by the sea.

And I’m glad.

Sometimes she is quiet.  Her waves lap the shore nonchalantly.  She is the quiet canvas for all who wish to embark on her solitude.  She is a haven of rest.

Sometimes she is restless.  Clouds cast a shadow over her face.  She speaks menacingly.  Her talk is forboding.  She seems discontent.  The gulls bellow along in harmony with her warning of a coming storm.

Sometimes she is boisterous.  She flings herself to and fro.  She beats the shore.  She roars in anger and power.  She cannot be tamed.

I love the sea.  There is nothing more beautiful than a yellow sunrise coming up out of the sea.  There is nothing more beautiful than a purple sunset as the sun descends into the sea.  The sea’s rhythm – indefatigable, its melody – inimitable, its harmony – indescribable.

There is nothing on earth bigger than the sea.  There is nothing on earth deeper than the sea.  And there is nothing on earth that teems with more life than the sea.

She is a transparent body that absorbs the sun’s rays allowing them to change her hues of green and blue and turquoise.

She is a canvas on which the night sky paints in navy and black and gray.

She is a thousand mirrors that reflect the moon on a thousand shimmering waves.

She has no equal in power.  She has no equal in beauty.

She is the rich man’s playground.  She is the poor man’s solace.

She is both fearsome and calming.  She mercilessly claims life while mercifully giving life.  She is a paradox.  Graceful.  Harsh.  Joyfully tempestuous.  Soothingly sinister.

And she is always there.  Ever changing.  Never changing.

Reminding us of our frailty.  Soothing, threatening, singing, sighing, laughing, crying.

Unapologetic, yet timelessly sympathetic.

She is my neighbor.

She is the sea.