I miss the sea.

Don't get me wrong, I don't miss riding in Navy equipment. Living conditions for officers were about equivalent to low-security prison, while enlisted got medium-security prison. The work schedule was twelve on/twelve off, except there was a forty-five minute passdown meeting at every shift change, so that's thirteen-and-a-half on/nine-and-a-half off.

But if I got a few minutes to steal, I could sit on the leading edge of the flight deck. The breeze riffled through my lack of hair, smelling of iodine. The ocean was a deep, mysterious cerulean, the sky a clear azure. On the horizon, a few small squalls added white and gray. If we were near shore, there might be dolphins playing in the bow wave; further out at sea, the flying fish would dance across the surface.

If I was a millionaire, I'd buy a yacht.

But Hil doesn't like the open ocean. I don't know if I'll ever again spend a week without seeing any land whatsoever. I guess I'm at that stage in my life, where constraints are more visible than they once were.

But I'll always remember that color, that smell, that feeling, of being on the sea far from shore.

Posted by: Boviate at 12:01 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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