A SMALL WONDER OF SUMMER
Watching the sea spray along the esplanade, each plume hung in the air, for just a moment.
Every seventh wave creating a gushing roar and a clap against the wall that ends in an unexpected showering of salt droplets.
I cannot help but laugh when I am soaked by the spray.
“I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.”
