"Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls, Boils round the naked, melancholy isles..." ~ Jane Eyre

*post originally handwritten at 8 o'clock in the morning*

I sit alone this morning, inhaling the thickly salted sea air and watching white crests of the waves align themselves in perfect symmetry on the horizon.

It is barely past 8 o'clock in the morning. There is no one here except for a few joggers and an entire clan of seagulls, probably still digesting yesterday's food - that is how plump they are underneath their sand-speckled white exteriors.

My coffee is still warm; I sip it slowly. It is a very quiet morning, save the sounds at the shoreline and my sips at a dome lid.

There is a slight chill, especially since the sand surrounding my feet is cold. However, it is refreshing, and my toes feel good with the sand squished in between them. I have no layers on - just my two piece. I smiled when I put it on earlier because I love the pattern and warm colors of the tank.

The notebook page I write on becomes damp by the ocean air. I can already feel my thick curls become damp and salty just by a quick brush on them with my palm. I think I love my hair best when it is like this. It may look a tad wild, but to me it feels perfect.

Moments later, a thick fog rolls in. The density of it makes the line between the ocean and the horizon blend as one. The fog seems a bit apropos because a part of myself feels as if it were in a fog lately. It is not for any one particular reason, rather just a combination of things. I don't come here this morning to escape my life or forget what is happening in the world. I come to sit in peace and reflect more than anything else.

I daydream a bit about Jack at the beach, and I feel a sense of excitement for the family beach days to come when he builds sand castles and tries to dodge the water at the shoreline, as many little ones love to do. I picture him in shark swimtrunks with a little pouch hanging over the waist area, chasing seagulls as his curls become thick with sand. I picture myself happily walking in the hot sand, joyfully burning my feet, to go get him ice cream or frozen fruit bars, and I smile inwardly to myself.

I walked down to the shore line just a moment ago, and a line of seaweed is covered in clusters of sea foam. The foam is beautifully glistening in my eyes, but the seaweed beneath makes my stomach growl. I think tonight I will have to have some miso soup and sushi to appease my seaweed cravings.

My chair is periwinkle. I purchased it at Crate and Barrel a few years back; it was part of their "popsicle chair" line; the back is shaped like the curvature of a popsicle. In my large beach bag, I carry a red, orange, and yellow stripped towel that I have no intention of using this morning. There is sunblock, my keys, my cell phone. The bag also carries my notebook, as well as a great mystery book called "Sticks and Stones" by mystery writer Diana Mott Davidson. (E's mom recommended the series to me since the amateur sleuth is a caterer and there are recipes throughout the books). I will probably read a few pages, but I plan to close my eyes and take a light nap for a while. There is a reason why there are cd's made of ocean waves: it is the most relaxing sound there is in this world.

D.R. was incredulous as to why I was up so early on a weekend morning to go to the beach. I told him that "non-beachies" like himself just don't understand. So, I post these thoughts for the non-beachies, in hopes of converting him...I mean them...into an morning ocean worshipper like me.