The song of the sea
I spend as much time as I can spare, wandering on the beach or visiting the headland to gaze out over the blue expanse. There is something about the magnitude, the ruler-straight horizon, and the feeling that I could disappear into the liminal space where the ocean meets the sky that captivates me.
It's an alien world inhabited by bizarre creatures, fascinating and dangerous – serene on the surface, yet teeming with life below. Watching whales breach, sending curtains of spray flying into the air, their long pectoral fins slicing through the air, fills me with wonder.
Observing the seabirds reveals much of what is happening beneath the surface. They congregate where the baitfish are running, soaring high into the sky before plummeting into the water to catch their prey; and the presence of birds and baitfish will often signal the presence of dolphins.
For my mythic soul, the part of me which loves to write about characters from the ancient stories, the sea is also the abode of fantasy – of mermaids and monsters, all set to the song of the whales. When I wander along the shoreline in the late afternoon, watching the Earth's shadow stain the sky above the horizon, I imagine sailing towards the moon as it rises, following the silver-gold pathway on the glittering surface of the waves.
The morning sunlight turns the ocean to quicksilver churned by a fresh little breeze, and shines glassy green through the curve of the waves as they rush towards the sand; so different from the sullen grey and white-capped spray of a stormy day. So many moods, ever-changing and ever a source of delight.
On a recent sunny day, I made a brief movie of some of the ocean vistas at Woolgoolga Headland. I set it to the introduction to a song I wrote some time ago: Au Bord de la Mer. You can listen to the whole song at https://angiemoore.bandcamp.com/album/mood-swing