Gemma

Ocean Faces

The sea, the sea, the sea, the sea,
Every hour, every day, every week, every month,
Surrounded by the sea, and all her faces.

Grey face, reflecting the mood of the sky. Dull and un inviting, less trimmed with gold and silver from the sun or moon.

Soul face, the deep blue that stares back at me when I look directly down into her soul. Strong, beautiful,  alluring.

Inside face, the iridescent greens and blues when within her, under her surface, pierced by shafts of sunlight that reach down for miles yet show none of her hidden treasures.

Then in moments of utter calm and stillness, Mirror face, when she looks like molten glass, so smooth, we seem like a speck of dust on her otherwise flawless complexion.

The slightest breeze, belied by tiny ripples that race across her skin,brings texture to Meadow face, with the slowly undulating rise and fall of its long low hills, in constant motion  toward every horizon.

But in come the squabbling siblings of wind and tide to tug and tussle.  The sea now agitated , lumpy, confused in form but full of energy and angst. Uncomfortable. Tiring.

The stronger wind prevails and grows the majesty of the rolling sea. 20, 30, 40ft giants taking us on their exhilarating journey. Raw power, capped with the startling and fleeting beauty of Stain-glass Window face, as the wave top stretches up so thinly that, for a moment, the sunlight shines through a pane of luminescent baby blue, before being lost in cascading white on grey.

Saved were we from the Face of Fury where sea and storm rage and the world looses all form in the maelstrom. A face I am happy not to witness in our tiny craft.

Instead, like a gift, comes Magic Night face, when, so black the sea on a starless night that sea and sky  become one to leave us floating somewhere between both, our flight lit by phosphorescence from the oars, streaming like vapour trails from our wings. The only sound, the gentle breaking of waves somewhere in the blackness. Surreal, Magical.

There are many more faces that shape our life on the ocean. Like a long term guest who starts to see all the faces of the household. A privilege to see and a secret to hold.

I will miss all of them, until my own meets them again. A meeting of old friends who can sense the others mood by the looks oft unnoticed within the public smile on their faces.

DRW 17 Jan 2025