Thanks to my family for indulging my deep need for the ocean and for their presence, all together for a brief moment in time. Thank you so much for a beautiful weekend.
[photo and portable record player :: Shalin Scupham]
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Sea Longing
A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand, The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land With the old murmur, long and musical; The windy waves mount up and curve and fall, And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,-- Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know, For I was born the sea's eternal thrall. I would that I were there and over me The cold insistence of the tide would roll, Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,-- Then with the ebbing I should drift and be Less than the smallest shell along the shoal, Less than the seagulls calling to the sea.
-- Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933)












