The white gulls are crying…

To the sea, to the sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling, 
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling, 
The voices of my people that have gone before me? 
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,
In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people forever!

I’m drawn to the water. Not to sail on it, swim in it, or wade through it, but just to watch the sea crashing on the rocks, and listen to the endless,white flecked waves collapsing.

If I can’t sleep, I think about hopping in the car and heading to the coast to be sea adjacent. One of the best holidays I’ve had involved camping in sand dunes a hundred yards from the water.

I did the not sleeping thing this weekend. 11pm Saturday night rounded up a similarly unsleeping nephew and drove east for 70 miles. Parked up along marine drive north bay end, near the big man on his big bench, tucked between two camper vans. Camp chairs, tea, stare out over the waves.

I catnapped for an hour in the car with my sleeping bag, but nephew watched the sea. We watched sunrise and high tide. Watched a pack of 5am bikers pause for half an hour then leave.

Didn’t really sleep, but felt completely at peace. The only rational explanation is Elves ( not sylvan ) or Selkies in the ancestry.

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dys

Short British introvert with a love of books, gadgets, crochet and malformed haiku. There is no post schedule and my blog titles are all personal in jokes.