No, the sea is not a day dream. There is no plink and tinkle of a music box in the white wash, splashing over playing children’s toes. There is no florid turquoise and aquamarine shimmering from the sun, as its light skips across the swell. And just when I think that, yes, the sweet salty cologne that wafts off the waves is real, I open my eyes, and breathe the fantastic truth.
The green is unripened and sour. The crash and bash and smash of the wave’s storm saturates my ears. The light is morose, as mournful as any deaths day. The salt stings my eyes, scratches my skin and I am alone.
So beautifully alone, hallelujah, I am the luckiest man alive.