Pablo Neruda held a fascination
for the sea. It served as a metaphor for his emotions and travels. In
his Isla Negra, he meditated on the nearness of blue.
During my morning runs, the sea
behaves in a stroll of moods. Its animation stretches my senses.
Some days the wave action reflects a satin stillness. In a moment,
mounds appear as if a cat has arched its back, pushed forward and
then returned to horizontal. Other days the spindrift curls off a wave's
crest like cat claws extended and hidden during movement toward the
Water moves in a celadon glaze
of Chinese porcelain. It reveals a transparency where orange fish
swim. A change in season promotes rupture and
urgency. Aggressive in sapphire, wave action polishes the
sandstone. Slush and slap push water in cacophony or symphony. Carried on
a mist of salt, scents of cinnamon rolls and
coffee mingle on sun-enchanted breezes.
The sea might match my mood
or cause me to question my morning's emotions. Imagination
tickles each breath until I notice an elegance of seahorses driven in harness. In
an instant they turn into scrambled egg whites. Breakfast calls.