I really believe that there is something magical about the ocean. Something that calls out to each person. It can only be heard when one sits quietly and just enjoys it. The sounds. The waves crashing. The seashells rolling across the sand. The seagulls squawking above one's head.
And then there is the sweet experience of being in the ocean. Bobbing up and down over the waves. Toes squishing into the wet sand. The salty smell of the water in the air.
I have an extreme love for it. It's been there since I was a child. While I also enjoy the beauty of the mountains and their charm, they just don't have that connection to me like the ocean. I NEED to be near it every once in a while. If I could live by it, oh, that would be heaven. (not that I'm complaining about my little cottage on the river, which is perfectly lovely in its own way)
Something about this unique beauty inspires me.
I started writing again while I was here.
Sat down at our campsite's picnic table to journal (which I often do while traveling). But instead of writing about me, a story came tumbling out.
I couldn't stop writing.
...and I still haven't.
Oh, how I have missed that feeling. I haven't written like this since high school.
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