The Ocean of Winter

Inspired by a visit to Kettle Cove and Higgins Beach today, I wrote this:


The seaside, that ocean, your beach; such a summer state of mind. When I came to the water’s edge this morning, I sheltered my skin from the harsh winds and the bite of bitter cold. I could not wear nothing, I could not do nothing, I was far from baking in the oven of the summer sun.

I found an open world with no being in my sight. The ocean of winter pouring out from my toes. Enveloped in a palette of gray, I stood at the pinpoint of the cove. Touch-of-gray whitecaps were thrashing and roaring against the stony shore of the slate sea. A diluted sky seamlessly sealed itself against the ever-far horizon. A snow squall hit, the flakes wildly falling towards ice and snow and sand.

I spend a moment at the edge of the shore. The gritty ocean water washes up over my boots, soaks through my woolen socks, and my feet begin to tingle. And then freeze. I close my eyes. I smell the pure scent of winter and the wind burns through my face, passing through my loose strands of hair. I let the sea of slate cradle me in its snowy waves.

I am chilled. This world is gray and gritty, salted and harsh.

Yet, it lives.

That deep, vast ocean of winter.

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3 thoughts on “The Ocean of Winter

  1. I can feel the bitter wind blowing! And feel the ice under my feet – oops, there I go, down again.



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