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When I was 22, I wrote a short radio play about the sea. Actually, that was its title: The Sea. This was a very avant-garde kind of thing, though I re-read it not long ago and still liked the writing. I created the play when I was living in San Francisco and it actually was performed on the University of California, Berkeley radio station. I mention all of this because I was reminded of my youthful dramatic piece Monday morning as I sat beside the ocean. To me, the sea is a metaphor for human emotion. That’s what my play was about. The layers of current, the clash of movement, the range of mood, all of this fascinates me and seems to reflect what I experience within myself. Monday was one of those times when the metaphor jumped out at me again while I watched a frothing green sea reflect the bright sunlight.
Not that I felt particularly frothy on that morning, mind you. Or green for that matter. No, it’s not that my mood at the moment necessarily matches what I see in the ocean. It’s that what I see in the ocean seems to match a mood I have felt at times.
The whole scene was washed in a piercing light. I had to shield my eyes from the sun as I looked at the water. A sharp wind was gusting from the east, whipping up line after line of waves that rolled in toward the sand. As far out as I could see, the waves rose from the surface and advanced in orderly rows of whitecaps until they neared the shore, where they seemed to rise higher and advance faster before dissolving into a foam of bubbles. But more than anything, I think, the play of color and light affected me. The ocean appeared an unusual green, pale as a first springtime leaf and unmixed with any blue or gray that I could detect. The subtlety of that shade was striking on such a roiling ocean, streaked in white waves and illuminated by blinding sunshine. It seemed an emotional sea indeed, passionate and turbulent though somehow welcoming too. This was still early in the day but I noticed a swimmer and a surfer in the water under a lifeguard’s watch. I knew that others would come out soon to sit beside the Atlantic and observe, as I was, or to sun themselves and read and just enjoy the beach. It was a nice day for that. The sea was very much alive – and it had reminded me that I was too.
Not that I felt particularly frothy on that morning, mind you. Or green for that matter. No, it’s not that my mood at the moment necessarily matches what I see in the ocean. It’s that what I see in the ocean seems to match a mood I have felt at times.
The whole scene was washed in a piercing light. I had to shield my eyes from the sun as I looked at the water. A sharp wind was gusting from the east, whipping up line after line of waves that rolled in toward the sand. As far out as I could see, the waves rose from the surface and advanced in orderly rows of whitecaps until they neared the shore, where they seemed to rise higher and advance faster before dissolving into a foam of bubbles. But more than anything, I think, the play of color and light affected me. The ocean appeared an unusual green, pale as a first springtime leaf and unmixed with any blue or gray that I could detect. The subtlety of that shade was striking on such a roiling ocean, streaked in white waves and illuminated by blinding sunshine. It seemed an emotional sea indeed, passionate and turbulent though somehow welcoming too. This was still early in the day but I noticed a swimmer and a surfer in the water under a lifeguard’s watch. I knew that others would come out soon to sit beside the Atlantic and observe, as I was, or to sun themselves and read and just enjoy the beach. It was a nice day for that. The sea was very much alive – and it had reminded me that I was too.
posted by LauderBLOGGER at 8:47 AM
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