Friday, July 2, 2010

Sea Poetry

  Our family, all nine of us, has been at the beach this week. Today (Friday) was the first day since we arrived that the sun chose to grace us with her presence. The result is that almost all of us are suffering from some form of sunburn or windburn but no one is complaining...especially since it rained two inches yesterday and the day before and the day before that. We could not help ourselves. The sun and the sand and the sea called to us like beacons. Forget red flags and the threat of was to the sea we went.
     Night has fallen and this beautiful day is drawing to a close. Tonight we have feasted like kings -- the son-in-law prepared a marvelous shrimp feast courtesy of The Pioneer Woman. We barely seem to fit around the table anymore, and there is always someone straddling a leg or two. Yet I find such closeness both comfortable and comforting. After we broke bread together, at the end of the meal each person told the others what we were thankful for today. Some of the comments were simple, some were poignant, some were hilarious and some were...well, let's just  leave it at that. But tonight I know that I am thankful for laughter, love, family, and good food. I leave you with one of my favorite sea poems and the promise of another beautiful day.

      Sea Fever

        I MUST down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
        And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
        And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
        And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.
        I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
        Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
        And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
        And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
        I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
        To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
        And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
        And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
        John Masefield

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