Ocean

»Do you ever miss the sea?« Sam asked.

Harry stopped chopping celery and looked out the window. How could he explain it to Sam? Sam, who had lived all his life in this village. Sam, who went once a year for a weekend at the coast.

The sea was in his blood. He heard the ocean call to him with the roar of its waves and the salt of its air. Every night he lay down to sleep with the thought that this would be his last night on land, tomorrow he would...

He shook his head. »Not really, Sam.«

The sea makes up about 70% of the world. So why isn't ours called 'Planet Ocean'?

What makes the vastness of the ocean so impressive is that I'm looking at only the top of it.

The ocean is a dream; it is the huge, unknowable part of life on earth. It's giant, it's dark, it's dangerous, and it's comforting. It's both mother and grave. I wish I lived near the ocean.

Ocean Spray is a co-operative of cranberry farmers. Fully exploiting the market potential of the cranberry is probably a serious business if you have a cranberry smallholding.

The ocean purrs and whispers
As it grinds against the sand
It turns and tosses
With discontent
But never pulls its losses to the deep

Salt water that covers seventy percent of the earth's surface.

When you're a geography major, Oceanic is a word used to describe an ocean. Now I'm an English major. Oceanic is a good adjective to use in a poem when describing anything but an ocean.

The ocean provides surf to all those worthy of it.

Can you believe all those pearls? Just sitting there, inside strange creatures' shells, waiting to be cracked, sorted, worn.

Can you believe all those fish? Just swimming there, around the shells, circling and hoping to catch a glimpse inside, where strange creatures live.

Can you believe all those men? Just living inside their tiny boats, shaking on the surface, trying to catch the fish, trying to crack the shells, trying to find the pearls.

Can you believe the ocean?