The call of the sea is a form of a curse. It's breath flows across your face, the foam drifts across your toes, you feel the blood within your veins flow a little more than before. The song of the sea skips a generation. It was in the blood of my grandfather, and it is within me. My father however cares not for the sea. He prefers to be in the clear sunny mountains where he can breathe the thin air and feel the stillness and silence cover him. But not me. I prefer the roar of the ocean, the slamming of powerful waves against the sand and the rock, the feeling of ice cold air blowing my hair around my face as I breathe in the mists of salt and seaweed. Those who are called to the seas shores can never be set free. Our family came from Ireland a few generations ago. The town from whence we came was Galway, County Galway, The Republic of Ireland. Galway is a coastal town, a port town. The skies are often grey and the rain often pours. It is cold and the sea ripples against the rocky shores and stone borders of the city. I believe that the rhythm of those sloshing seas lives on within the hearts of its descendants. This mark in our hearts is also a curse. It is a curse that claims lives, and livelihoods. For the generations here there are ones who fall to the seas seductive voice and ones who run far far away from it. The one member of our family who abandoned that coastal place sailed across the sea to a new land of mountains and plains. The escape of that one person from the wiles of the waves wrote the course for the rest of our history. There is a war within these bones. My grandfather and all his brothers became seamen. They sailed the sea between Asia and North America for years on end. Their father before them stayed in the mountains and the valleys, far away from the sea. My father and his brothers are mountain men. They stand atop high hills and close themselves off from that magnificent temptress. I cannot. My heart aches and yearns for open waters and frozen waters. The cold skies filled with those sad sounding sea birds, the trees bending and bowing in the gusts, the sea breaking free of its confines and manifesting on the mainland as fog and rain. I have given into her spell… the call of the ocean… the song of the sea, she calls me.
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